


Court of Stars: Part II - Gemini and Corvus

by ivorytower



Series: Court of Stars [3]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: F/F, F/M, NaNoWriMo 2017, court of stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorytower/pseuds/ivorytower
Summary: Back when Nostramo was a functional colony, Malcador puts together a crew for the heist of a lifetime: steal the hive city's STC system. But why does he want it? What consequences will ensue? And can Josepha Hexx and Blakk Crowe afford to trust the others - or even each other - now that trust is more vital than ever?





	1. Chapter 7

Night had fallen, and amidst the swirl of smog and the sounds of laughter, there was a hint of a chill in the air. Winter had come to the hive city once more. The building spires, stretching up towards the heavens like hands entreating the sky-gods, stood as sentinels against the worst of it. It left the snow, tainted and yellowed with pollution, to fall on the outskirts, onto the fields and highways that stretched from one part of the world to the next in a complex web devised by the most ingenious spider ever to be born.

Up on top of the Vertex Industries corporate building, there was no such protection and the wind was icy, dragging snowflakes along his thick, black coat. He pulled his collar up a little higher as his gaze, so dark a brown as to be nearly black, took in the blinking, winking city lights.

_It’s almost time._

There was a reason he had chosen this building, after all, and it wasn’t because he had some kind of secret fondness for the Curze family, upstarts and newcomers from Earth that they were. It’s because, conveniently enough, their monument to capitalist enterprise sat directly across from his _real_ target: the primary hive spire. Countless individuals, families, and even businesses lived and died within its immense trunk, the great mother of all steel and glass trees -- at least in _this_ hive -- but no one knew who lived at the very top.

There were rumours, of course, and as he peered at the darkened lights, vision briefly obscured as a gust of bone-chill air feathered his black hair, he wondered which of those rumours, if any, were true, could be true.

Some claimed that the ruler of the hive lived there. Not the mayor, of course. Not the hive council or the sub-hive councils. The person who _actually_ ruled the city. The puppetmaster behind every government that had been elected once a decade for many years before his birth, twenty-six years ago. The spider at the heart of the web.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know, not really, not without actually going inside to find out. Fortunately, that _was_ what he had been hired to do, and breaking and entering was certainly a talent he possessed in abundance.

It was almost time.

He reached for the bag beside him and opened it, the sound of the zipper swallowed by the wind and the darkness, taking out what was, for all intents and purposes, a high-powered crossbow. Drawing out the specially constructed arrow, he attached it to as much wire as he’d been able to find without taking apart a bridge, and set it in the crossbow. He hooked the spindle of wire around the hook he’d created for just this purpose -- no one wanted to lose a finger from snapping wire -- and let it uncoil to avoid snap or drag.

Almost, but not quite.

It was a minute to midnight, the cusp between yesterday and tomorrow, and a fortuitous time to perform the impossible. He raised the crossbow and aimed at the primary hive spire. The wind picked up, and with each shift, he altered his aim just slightly. Despite the relative ease of shooting a building, since the _exact_ location was important, he had to be careful, precise.

Perfect.

Seconds ticked by, accumulating in the base of the hourglass like grains of sand, and he inhaled, the cold hurting his lungs.

_Three… two… one._

The great clock atop a different building, one of the oldest in the hive city, rang out, striking the hour. Finding the right angle, despite the wind and cold, he fired.

_One… two…_

The arrow flew true, hurtling through the night air. He watched as he listened to the sound of the cable flying, first rising from the coil on the rooftop, then the sound as it unspooled. Almost. Almost.

_Nine… ten…_

It struck the building hard, punching into it. The bolt, not even truly visible from the distance between the two points, expanded at the head and stuck fast, digging into the spire’s outer shell. He tied off the cable tightly, looping it around the anchor on the building, then secured the zip tie around the cable.

_Eleven…_

Taking a breath that hurt, he grasped the line and secured it around him, then pushed off from the building to glide along the cable.

_Twelve._

In the darkness he smiled, baring his teeth, and flew.

~ * ~

The key to getting inside, she had decided when she had been first given the job, was to _be_ inside. It was pure foolishness to try and break into the hive spire from the outside. Only a fool or a madman would take such a course of action, and she considered herself to be neither.

She had spent much of the week up to the target date learning about her location, since her employer could give her no details whatsoever about the actual mark itself. She had learned how the security worked, how many people lived in there, how far the lifts -- high-powered for rapid ascent and a slower, more measured descent -- actually went and where the _rest_ of the lifts were, away from the prying eyes of the lesser folk that lived in the rest of the spire.

There was a third set of elevators, and even with her expertise, she could not gain access to one. Well, not exactly.

Her first aim was to be inside the building four hours before midnight, during the lesser of the three shift changes. This exodus was meant for the graveyard shift at one of the countless manufacturing plants around the hive city. The workers during this shift were less plentiful than the other two -- morning and afternoon -- and they were less inclined to ask questions of people pushing through the flow of usual traffic to get _inside_ the hive spire instead of outside.

That step had been easy, between the workers and the tired security guards. There was nothing unusual, not really, about a dark-skinned woman with dark violet eyes, dressed in the same slacks and jacket as anyone else during this cold night, trying to get inside before the wind stole her breath any more.

Once inside, cold had given way to stifling heat. She tucked herself into an alcove to remove her artificial-fleece lined coat and bundled it up, discarding the warm treasure. She took out a headscarf and pinned it about her hair, drawing the plain fabric over their brow and up around her neck, concealing tattoos and kill marks that had previously been covered by the coat’s high, thick collar.

A simple woman, a private one, needing to go back to her home on the low-mid tiers of the hive spire. She crammed herself into a not-yet-departed lift and, like the thirty other people inside the cab, braced as they shot upwards. One by one, people filed out to their apartments, cubby holes, and habitation blocks, all crammed together with only too-thin walls to separate them.

She had chosen her timing carefully, and she wasn’t the last one to step onto her floor, nor was her path aimless. She walked, her pace measured, towards one of the apartments and let herself inside. The former inhabitant would not be back, and it wasn’t even _her_ doing. Not this time, at any rate.

She stored her equipment here, pieces she’d smuggled inside her coat and her slacks, inside the headscarf and in a dozen other places, assembled here, so she would be ready. Her scarf was discarded again, replaced with a cap to hide her hair, revealing her face for all to see. She shed her clothing easily, replacing them with battered but well-maintained overalls and a different jacket, all bearing bright, eye-catching stripes, meant to draw attention away from her face and towards her profession as maintenance worker.

Quickly, she packed the tools she would need into her maintenance tool kit and snapped it closed before pulling on thick, clumsy gloves. She turned and left the apartment, strolling casually towards the next set of lifts, these ones requiring a passkey to go up further in the tower.

An hour and thirty-seven minutes from her time of entry, she was taking the maintenance lift towards the second-highest tier of the hive spire. There was no one inside the lift to appreciate her disguise, but she ignored the security feeds studiously, well-aware that she was being watched.

She had a plan for that. She _always_ had a plan.

Before getting into the lift, she had already selected her destination, a high-middling floor with a damaged radiator. Once she reached the floor, she exited, walking towards her target with unassuming and unhurried steps.

She knelt and worked, retrieving new tools, different tools, from within the radiator. She also fixed it; it was only polite. After all, she had been the one to break it, at an earlier time in a different disguise. So far, so good.

She packed up her tool kit and strolled towards the lift, and pressed the button to go down. When the lift arrived, she stepped inside, tapping another floor, and, with the same movement, jammed a device into the control box. Then she stepped out, and waited.

Unaware of its sole passenger having departed, the lift began to descend, though the doors remained open. The point wasn’t to halt the process, as one might anticipate, but instead, to use it. She sprang into action the moment the lift gave her enough room, and leapt from the floor to the top of the lift, and then, from the top of the lift into the shaft.

There was, as anticipated, a maintenance ladder, and where there was a ladder, it went _all_ the way up.

Swiftly now, anticipating her target’s surprise in the moment before their death, she began to climb.

~ * ~

He couldn’t see a damn thing inside the room and he was freezing his ass off besides.

There were black curtains drawn across all of the windows -- and there were many -- in the penthouse apartment of the hive spire. It was incredible that there hadn’t been a thousand break ins by determined thieves, though that might have had something to do with the nigh-unbreakable glass. The windows _must_ have come from the specialized manufacturing plants, he mused, designed on Earth and filtered out to the myriad colonies of the human space empire.

He didn’t much care for politics, nor the damnable windows.

At least he had a plan, though he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. He was anchored to the side of the hive spire, and clung to one part of the window, and carefully reached into his jacket, swallowing as he swayed minutely. He took out the glass cutter and affixed one half onto the window with the suction cups, and set the other half’s blade to the glass. He measured out enough diameter to fit himself and his equipment inside and began to cut, drawing the same circle over and over again until he felt the section give under his fingertips and pulled it loose.

Careful, he had to be so very careful. Clumsiness would mean someone’s death down below, and he did hate to kill people. He preferred to keep his hands clean. Theft could be, and should be, a bloodless crime.

He couldn’t claim that he robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, but at least he mostly left them alone. The poor made shit-awful marks, all things considered.

He adhered the circle of glass to the window, and with care, and gloves lined with suction cups, he eased himself inside, avoiding becoming tangled in the curtains masterfully, even if he did say so himself. Pushing past the thick material, he stood gingerly on the floor of the penthouse, and looked around.

It was dark.

Without moonlight, without lamps, the penthouse was as dark as the devil’s asshole. Frustrating, but not unsurmountable. He put the fingers of his stiff glove to his mouth, tugged it off with his teeth, and shook out his wrist. Immediately, the pencil-thin flashlight affixed to his arm-sheath came loose, and he turned it on, adding the faintest sliver of light to the impenetrable darkness.

 _All I have to do is find it,_ he thought as he walked, each step slow, careful as he rested his weight on the floor. _If it’s this dark, whoever’s here must be asleep. All I have to do is get what I’m looking for and get out. Simple._

It was simple, but he didn’t know _exactly_ what his client wanted, only that it would be a know-it-when-you-see-it sort of item. Much of the challenge had been getting inside, avoiding being seen, disabling alarms, and surviving in the brutal cold. The rest would be locating the special object he had been asked to retrieve, whatever it happened to be.

 _The next time someone tells me about a job like this, I’m going to say no, and then punch them,_ he thought wryly. _Or I’m going to punch them, and then say no._

The rooms were certainly simple enough to evaluate: from the shaft of light he swept across the room, he saw electronics aplenty, and shelves with small, elegant works of art, while other glances noted huge paintings -- mostly portraits -- on the walls. There was a kitchen, a few closed doors to what he assumed were bedrooms, but nothing quite like the hint he’d been given.

As he crept through the deathly-silent apartment, he heard something that split the quiet with all the force of a knife thrust.

The doorbell rang.

He froze, then slowly turned, finding the entrance in the darkness easily with sight and sound both to guide him. He remained still, willing whoever had showed up at such a late hour to go away. The ringing came again, twice as long.

 _If whoever that is wakes up the owner, I’ll get caught,_ he reasoned, his mind racing. _So all I have to do is make them go away._

He hurried to the door and, before the next ring, unlocked the door and opened it. He offered the person at the door his best smile, even as her appearance barely registered with him.

“Hello,” he said, his voice soft. “Could you keep it down? He’s trying to sleep.”

“Sorry,” the woman said, dropping her voice to match his. “Someone requested for me to bring this right away. You’re not the only one here?”

“No,” he said, cursing silently. “Alright, come in. I appreciate your dedication to your work.”

The woman stepped inside, and he closed the door softly, with barely more than a click.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “You know, in my line of work, I don’t get nearly enough thanks.”

“Of course,” he said, trying to think. “I’m sure there’s light in here somewhere.”

“Please,” said a voice that belonged to neither the woman nor himself, loud enough that it was inside the room with them. “Let me.”

A light snapped on above them, then a dozen, coming on like a warehouse opening for a day’s work, and it was _blinding._ He cried out, trying to shelter his eyes, and at his side, the woman had done the same. It took a few moments for his vision to clear, and what he saw, he had not expected.

Seated on a chair so large and pretentious as to be called a throne sat a grey-haired, ageless man, his fingers laced together. The man wore a long, hooded brown robe, and he rested his chin on the bridge of his digits, as eyes shaded by a jutting brow studied them both.

In front of the man was a small, round table, more like a stool than anything else, with a single knife made of an oddly dull metal with a simple wooden handle, sitting in the centre of it. He stared at the knife, as did the woman.

“Blakk Crowe,” said the man, and he flinched at the sound of his own name on the man’s lips. “Master Thief. You have penetrated this sanctuary with subtlety and aplomb. That is your target, a knife that is a relic of the oldest of Old Earth’s history. Take it, and the reward is yours.”

“Blakk Crowe?” the woman hissed. “Seriously?”

“Josepha Hexx,” the man continued as if she had not spoken. “First-class Infiltrator, Master Assassin. You have gained entry to this location with cleverness and clear planning. You were commanded to find and terminate a target, though they were not named. Correct?”

“Yes,” the woman -- Josepha -- said, swallowing. “That’s correct.”

“You have found him,” the man said, gesturing towards Crowe. “Your target is Blakk Crowe, Master Thief. Kill him, and your customary fee is yours.”

“What--”

The woman he knew of by reputation and rumour as the Midnight Phantom lunged in to grab the knife, and slashed it towards Crowe with a speed that took his breath away, even as he felt outraged at the man’s audacity.

The hunt, it seemed, was on.

Crowe leapt back, trying to get some distance, but Hexx kept coming at him, her speed ferocious, relentless. With each retreat, his hand moved over his jacket, unfastening buttons and clasps, even as he tried not to lose his head.

“Nothing personal,” Hexx said, lunging in with the knife out. Crowe jerked back as his jacket finally came off and he threw it at her, freeing himself from its bulk and catching her full in the face. Underneath, he wore a supple black leather vest, adorned with matte black buckles that made no sound as he moved, inspired by a desire for style and practicality both, with trousers that matched. Both were lined with padding, keeping vulnerable places -- his torso, his upper legs -- safe while still offering freedom of movement.

He didn’t _like_ to kill, but he would if he strictly had to, and somehow he doubted the assassin would spare him. He was her mark, after all. “Nothing personal.”

There was movement under the jacket, a rush of speed as it was thrown aside and she came for him, but this time, Crowe was ready. He caught her arm with one of his own, the quilted material of his shirt rippling, and his hand, balled into a leather-gloved fist, lashed out, striking her in the face.

“So,” Hexx said, grinning at him with too-white teeth. “The little bird has talons after all.”

“Please,” Crowe said, and this time, it was his turn to take the initiative, pivoting to aim a kick at her side. “I’ve heard it all.”

Hexx sprang away from the kick, and reversed the grip on her blade. Despite her unusual garb, she had no trouble keeping up with him, nothing to suggest she’d lost her grace and agility, though Crowe had little experience with hired killers as a whole. His own work tended to keep him away from such individuals.

Until now, at least.

 _I can’t let her get distance,_ Crowe thought, moving in, forcing her to retreat, just as she had done to him a moment earlier. _I don’t have a weapon of my own to throw, so I_ need _to prevent her from using that knife. I can’t trust that just because it’s an old thing that it’s a dull one._

Assassins relied on surprise rather than physical prowess to defeat their opponents, and certainly, the element of surprise was gone. Crowe knew she was there, and he had no intention of letting her kill him. He used his climbing gear to root himself into the floor, digging marks into the wood as he launched a powerful kick with his other foot.

His client would have to replace the floor as well as the window, but he couldn’t care less. The mysterious man had orchestrated this, and even now, Crowe wasn’t sure why. The whistle of the blade’s edge reminded him that this was no time or place to be distracted. Instead, he came around to swing.

Immediately, Hexx rammed her palm into his chest, driving the wind from his lungs, and followed it up with a blow with the knife’s hilt, that sent him reeling, tumbling end over end across the floor. Desperately trying to right himself, he dug his toes and the fingers of his left hand into the floor, leaning downwards, leaving long gouges in the floor. He brought his head up, flipping his hair back as he looked around for her.

 _She’s gone,_ he thought, heart pounding. _Where can she--_

Above. She came at him from above, light on her feet despite the heavy gear she wore, aiming at him with knife pointed downwards. He sprang away, more through sheer luck than planned escape, and she crashed to the floor. He kicked at her elbow and she cried out, as much in anger as in pain, and the knife dropped from her numbed fingers.

He could have grabbed for the knife. He _should_ have, Crowe knew it from the moment he scrambled over to pin her, but anger had overtaken him, fury at his countless near-deaths. She grappled with him, managing her numbed arm with remarkable skill. They tumbled and scrapped on the floor, grasping at each other, trying for throat gouges and for bites. Crowe was forced onto his back, struggling between kicks and punches, and felt something hard against his spine.

 _The knife._ He could have it in a moment, if he was careful, if he didn’t cut off a finger before he could reach it. Hexx leaned in to bite him, and with a cry of effort, he kicked her ankle, distracting her just enough that he could roll off of the knife and onto her. He leaned all his weight into her, pressing down against her throat before grasping the knife and bringing it upwards to strike.

“Enough,” said the man, startling him. Crowe froze, unable to move. “Get off of her, if you please, Blakk Crowe. I would not have you kill her. You’re a thief, after all, not a killer.”

“I almost had you,” Hexx snarled as Crowe got up, still gripping the knife tightly. “Clever trick with the coat.”

“Yes, Blakk is a very clever bird, just as you are a very fearsome phantom, Josepha,” the old man noted, and crooked a finger. “Come here. Give me the knife.”

Crowe’s chest heaved with effort, and he felt his body creak in pain, but he could still walk, and did, moving to the old man. He set the knife down on the table, and the man picked it up, examining it, and then secreted it in one voluminous sleeve, and a moment later, took something else from it: a deck of cards, long and slender. He began to shuffle.

“My name,” the man said, “is Hershel Malcador.” Crowe watched the cards, finding it difficult to study the man’s face in closer detail. He watched the images that appeared -- a tower struck by lightning, a moon high overhead -- and listened. “And I have a task for both of you.”

“I thought we already had a job,” Hexx panted. “One you just decided I failed.”

“Oh, no,” Malcador said, smiling a little. “You both passed my test. Yes, I told you to kill Blakk, but it was not in my best interests to see him dead. I need him alive, just as I need you alive. You have both proven to be quite resourceful individuals, subtle and clever, yet entirely capable if you should come to blows. I saw no cowardice, and no unnecessary cruelty.”

“Thank you, I wasn’t aware I was being _evaluated,”_ Hexx spat. “Who _are_ you, anyway? Your name doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Someone with an eye for these kinds of things,” Malcador said lightly. “Are you interested, or aren’t you?”

“I am,” Crowe said. “I’m also very curious to know, if you have the resources and planning to find us, who _else_ you might have assembled for this particular task.”

“You’re a thinker, Blakk Crowe,” Malcador said, and there was a certain kind of intonation to his voice, something strange and powerful. “I like thinkers. You’re right, there are others -- three others, in fact -- and with the two of you I will have five. It’s taken time to assemble you all, and you’ll meet the others soon enough. I have one answer but not the other. What of you, Josepha Hexx? Are you in, or out?”

The woman standing beside Crowe stared at Malcador, the look in her eye one of someone who did not know whether to laugh or throttle someone. She stared at the cards in his hands, moving faster now -- a lion, a man and a woman, naked and beatific, a man hanging upside down from a tree -- and gave her response: “I’m in.”

“Good,” Malcador said, and stopped shuffling. He set the deck face down on the table, and laced his fingers together once more. “The task I have for you is not easy. It will involve gathering information, theft, infiltration and, almost certainly, murder. I don’t expect you to move too far outside of your own areas of expertise, which is why there are others. A… circle, or a clade, if you like, of experts in their fields. I will make introductions soon enough.”

“And the reward?” Hexx demanded. “We may have rolled around on the floor for you as free entertainment, but I don’t intend to work for nothing twice.”

Malcador named a sum that caused Josepha to whistle, and Crowe to take a step back, stunned. “Each, of course. As you may have gathered, I have an agenda that I am willing to pay a very great deal for.”

“Sure seems like it if you’re willing to bleed that much for five different people,” Hexx said. “But you haven’t said what you want us to do. Are you going to tell us, or just sit there looking mysterious?”

“I will, in good time,” Malcador said. “I would like for you to meet with the others, which will be a simple enough task. You must understand -- both of you -- that this suite covers the whole of the top floor of this hive spire. It is not simply an apartment, or set of apartments. It is a base of operations, of which this is only a fraction.”

Hexx and Crowe exchanged a look, uneasy. “How much bigger?”

“I’ll let you find that out for yourselves. In the meantime, let me introduce you to those you will work with.” Malcador tapped a button on the side of his throne. There was no sound, not from the button nor the throne, but within moments, others arrived, each more unusual than the last.

The first was a small woman, pale with leaf-green eyes and ash-blonde hair. She had a cheerful expression on her face, as though she’d expected to see something like this, and was well prepared for it. She wore a dark green cable knit sweater and tan slacks with a long lab coat over top of it, pens tucked into the pocket. She nodded to them both and stood at Malcador’s right hand.

The second was a man, and not a small one; if the woman had been head and shoulders shorter than Crowe, this man was over a foot taller than the thief, dwarfing the woman considerably. He had the look of a body-builder, muscles bulging underneath a tight shirt and equally well-fitted trousers. Crowe let his gaze linger long, and the man smirked in reply.

The third was another woman, her expression stony and square, as though she had never known what it was to smile. She was dressed in fatigues, a practical, military aesthetic that Crowe could appreciate. She had the look of someone missing something, and there was a stiffness in her posture and movement.

“...and how convenient is it that all of your minions are dressed, at midnight, in role-defining clothing?” Hexx said sourly. “Or were you all just waiting in the wings too?”

The small woman giggled, putting a pale hand to her mouth. “Oh, we were told you would be here. I don’t actually mind, I’m usually up until all hours of the night. My name is Ashlynn Venen. I am… ooh, this is exciting, I never do get to introduce myself this way. I am Lord Malcador’s Mistress of Mixtures.”

“Huh,” Hexx said, finally cracking a smile. “Okay.”

“I’m Brant Eversor,” the man said. “I’m the muscle, and a little more. Ash’s got some interesting little projects going, and I’m helping her out. You know how it goes.”

“I can… well imagine,” Crowe said, and offered his hand. The big man took it gingerly, and there was still strength even in his careful grip. “Nice to meet you.”

“Susanne Decair,” said the final woman, her tone clipped. “Former Sniper Captain of the Nostramo Thirty-First. Recruited by Lord Malcador for a specialty mission.”

“Now that we’ve all been introduced,” Hexx said, looking at each of her new companions. “Maybe you can tell us what this is about? A bruiser, a chemist, a sniper, a thief, and an assassin. What do you need us for? What’s your plan here?” The question echoed in the eyes of the other participants, and Malcador nodded to them in acknowledgement.

Crowe watched with nervous anticipation as Malcador fished out a device and turned it on. An image appeared between them, stretching from floor to ceiling. It was, as near as Crowe could tell, a blueprint, familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“This is the hive city’s primary manufacturing plant,” Malcador said. “It provides designs for buildings, equipment, weapons, and a number of other important things. It has been, as you can imagine, wiped of certain _other_ designs, but those are not of concern. Not to you, at any rate.”

“So, what _does_ concern us?” Hexx asked, staring at the design. “Getting inside?”

“Yes,” Malcador said. “You’ll have plenty of time to study the design because my intent is to get all five of you inside and into the central core computer.” He adjusted the image, showing off a large room filled with blinking server banks and monitors. At the heart of it was a processor that glowed even in the confines of the projected image.

“Is that…” Ashlynn murmured, her eyes widening. She reached out to touch the image, and her fingers closed on nothing. “Sorry, I just--”

“That is the Standard Template Construct, yes,” Malcador said, and even the old man’s voice was filled with soft awe. “A miracle of modern design, the greatest accomplishment of this age.”

“That’s all very well and good,” Brant said, his voice over-gruff from not wanting to sound impressed. “But what are we supposed to do with it?”

Malcador reached out, flipping over the top card of the deck, and showed the image of a being with red skin and horns leering out at them. “I want you to steal it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DVD Commentary Notes on Tumblr: [Chapter 7](https://ivorytowerblr.tumblr.com/post/184864921331/wh20k-fic-court-of-stars-part-762-epilogue)


	2. Chapter 8

_I want you to steal it._

The simple statement rippled through them in a wave, and at first, none of the assembled could do anything except look at each other, stunned. Josepha herself felt a thrill of anticipation chased by deep apprehension.

She had seen the manufacturing plant, of course, everyone had. It dominated the hive city, the heart around which each of the five main hives of Nostramo had been built when human settlers had first come here. Most of the hive city’s workers were employed at this plant or one of the dozen or more satellite plants, spread out from the main one like planets rotating around a sun.

It was also one of the best guarded places on the planet, better than this penthouse apartment suite, better than the government building, better than the seed vaults holding the means to feed billions should some disaster befall the carefully manufactured seeds the farmers used year after year.

Conventional wisdom told her it would be impossible to break in, and from the looks on her companions’ faces, they knew it. Ashlynn and Brant looked out of their depths, while Suzanne’s expression was stony, expertly hiding any confusion she may have been feeling.

 _I’m an assassin and an infiltrator, but stealing things isn’t my expertise,_ Josepha mused. _If he wanted me to destroy it, I could manage that, but stealing it and getting out would be a lot harder than getting in. I can’t spend all that money if I’m dead._

“I’ll do it,” whispered Crowe, startling her. She did not know the man well, having only come face to face with him when he’d opened the door and let death into an apartment that wasn’t his. Now, she could see his dark eyes sparkling with anticipation, with _greed,_ as he stared at it. “Can you even imagine? It would be the heist of the century, the _millennium._ How could I refuse?”

“A healthy sense of self-preservation?” Brant suggested, and Ashlynn bit her lip to keep from laughing. Josepha had to admit it was funny too. “Can you pull it off?”

“With help, obviously,” Crowe said. “Which is why you’re here.”

“You were all chosen for your talents,” Malcador reminded them. “Not just Crowe. If you cooperate and work as a team, you’re all capable of completing this mission. It will not be easy. I will never promise that anything you do here will be easy.”

“Isn’t worth doing if it would be easy,” Crowe said, and Josepha rolled her eyes. “Do we have a deadline?”

“Not as such, though it would be better to work more quickly,” Macador said, smiling. He flipped the card back over and picked up the deck, shuffling once more. “There will be much for you to study, so you will need to work together. I suggest remaining here in this apartment. It will serve as a sufficient base of operations, once the window has been repaired.”

Crowe shrugged, unrepentant. “It put up a good fight.”

“Doubtless.” Malcador flicked off the projection. “For now, I suggest you retire to your rooms and make yourselves comfortable. There may be little time for such in the future.” He smiled. “My home is your home, a temple to the arts of larcenous behaviour.”

“A temple, really?” Josepha rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that kind of thing long dead?”

“You would… be surprised, but it is only a turn of phrase in this case,” Malcador said. “Relics within our vocabularies for many decades to come.”

“Yeah, okay.” Josepha turned and, not coincidentally, found Ashlynn’s gaze. “Why don’t you show me to your room?”

“Don’t you mean she should show you to _your_ room?” Crowe asked, shaking his head briefly. “I know I hit you pretty hard, but--”

“No,” Josepha said, and took a step towards Ashlynn, smiling. “I definitely don’t.”

“It’s this way,” she said, smiling in return. “I’ll give you the tour.”

There was something to that smile, something that felt familiar and comfortable. Josepha offered the smaller woman her arm easily, and Ashlynn took it, tugging her along as light faded into darkness, only to become brighter a few paces later. Malcador had not exaggerated when he had said Josepha had only seen a small portion of the apartment. Crowe had only barely seen more, focused as he had been on seeking out valuables.

Here, however, Josepha could see where the apartment had been properly separated, the living spaces clearly marked and kept away from the more open ones.

“We each have a room,” Ashlynn explained. “As well as a… work area, is what I like to call it. I have a lab that’s properly ventilated, and I can keep my materials in safety closets and under vent hoods. Brant has a private gym and a place that I can test my findings. Suzanne has her range, of course, at the far back. I’m not sure what kinds of places you’ll need.”

“That depends on what I’m doing,” Josepha pointed out. “If I’m practicing taking down targets, I’d need dummies, or to be able to set up a room to match where my target will be. If I’m trying to infiltrate a place, I need outfits to disguise myself, tools. I usually like to case the building to get a feel for it, though it isn’t always necessary. As for Crowe… probably tools and areas to practice kicking people. Like a jerk.”

“Did he hurt you?” Ashlynn asked, her eyes widening in concern. “Do you need first aid?”

“I don’t know, are you going to soothe my hurts personally?” Josepha asked, and Ashlynn blushed.

“I can see what I can do,” she replied. “My lab is just this way.”

“I look forward to seeing it,” Josepha said. “So, what did you do before you were recruited?”

“I was an industrial chemist,” Ashlynn said. “I helped manufacture mass-produced substances for use in many of the production plants. I also devoted my time towards finding ways not to damage the environment, though that took longer. I know the situation seems fairly bad from outside, but we’re cutting back emissions and using more biodegradable chemicals in every new batch. Well, _they_ are. I’m done with that now.”

“Makes sense,” Josepha said as they walked past a handful of doors. “Why did you leave?”

“I was sent a job offer, just as you were. Someone wanted to talk about my ideas, and I was invited here. I was so excited, I didn’t even know that someone had noticed me, much less asked me to come to the top of Hive Quintus of _all_ places.” Ashlynn shook her head in wonder. “I wasn’t the only one, but I was the only one who made it.”

“Made it…” Josepha frowned, wondering if other assassins had been called on. Other thieves. “What happened to the others?”

“Some of them thought the offer was a joke and didn’t take it, or a test of company loyalty.” Ashlynn pressed her lips into a thin line. “At least two of my former co-workers thought I was crazy to visit, but it wasn’t… I had authorization passes to get up to every part of the building. Lord Malcador’s orders.”

“Probably beats climbing up an elevator shaft for forty minutes,” Josepha admitted. “And maybe my shoulders could use some help too. Did he test you?”

“Oh, yes,” Ashlynn said. “I worked for nearly a full day in the lab refining substances for his approval. I have access to machinery here that I have only ever dreamed of back at the factory. It’s not going to match the sheer volume of industrial chemical production, but everything I do will be of the purest concentration I can manage. Well, if it needs to be pure. Sometimes dilution is just fine.”

“Neat,” Josepha said, and reached out with her free hand, touching Ashlynn’s cheek briefly. “That’s really neat. You’re smart _and_ beautiful.”

Ashlynn’s cheeks mottled bright red. “I. Um. Well _thank_ you.”

“You’re welcome. So how’s this place work?”

“Well, the bedrooms are all located on the interior, in a cluster, while the labs occupy the back two walls.” Ashlynn cleared her throat, and gestured towards the area they were walking in. “Some of the labs are very large, like Suzanne’s. She needs her distance and her angles, of course. The rest of the rooms are along the far side -- kitchen, bathrooms, where we’ll eat -- and you saw the front room. That mostly belongs to Lord Malcador.”

“Interesting layout,” Josepha mused. “Any reason why? It doesn’t seem like a way people _live._ Just where people like us are staying.”

Ashlynn blinked, considering. “Now that you mention it… it _does_ seem rather unusual. I suppose he could have renovated before we came here, but I’m not sure why he’d do such a thing. It’s something to talk about.”

“One more mystery to figure out.” They walked for a little longer in silence before Ashlynn stopped at a door and fished a key card from her pocket. She tapped it against a flat panel and it flashed from red to green before the smaller woman pulled the door open and held it, letting Josepha inside the darkened lab.

Josepha looks around, seeing the faintest outlines of machinery in the gloom, illumination coming in snatches from the devices themselves as buttons and displays glowed green, red, or gold. Ashlynn reached out, turning on the lights, though they began dim and brightened over time.

With more light, the assassin could see that the room was full, the spaces not occupied by whirring lab equipment instead being taken up by counters, their tops made of sturdy materials resistant to destruction. They were also exactly suited to her companion’s height, something she made mental note of as Ashlynn tugged at her arm.

“Normally speaking, many of these tasks would be separated out,” the chemist began. “You would send them to one department or the other, each specialized in only one aspect of industrial or commercial chemistry. Not so here, it’s all at my fingertips. Ideally, I would have assistants, but I get the feeling we’re supposed to be demonstrating our independence. I’m lucky these machines have such precise timers, too.”

“Aside from working with each other,” Josepha noted, looking from the countertops to the walls. They were bare for the most part, though one section had been given to a cork board, and there were papers pinned to it, though she couldn’t yet read what they said. Another section had a whiteboard, the writing indecipherable as much because of her ignorance of chemical formulas as the still-dim lighting. On the far side there was a shelf of thick books with dark covers.

“Those are for consultation,” Ashlynn said, following her gaze. “There’s far too much for only one person to know. I have dataslates too, whole repositories of specialized knowledge. The books bring me comfort, though. They’re tactile, _real._ I love them.”

“Nothing wrong with enjoying putting your hands on things,” Josepha said, turning her attention back to her companion, who blushed. “Brant mentioned that he helps you with your experiments. What is it that he does?”

“I’ve been doing some work with mixed substances, and he’s been trying them for me. Nothing damaging, of course.”

“Wouldn’t that be biological chemistry?”

“It would be, yes,” Ashlynn said, and guided her towards one of the benches. “It’s not precisely within my range of skills, but I’ve been studying, and based on the knowledge I acquired through my schooling, combined with Lord Malcador’s wealth of resources, I’m catching up.”

Josepha considered her own education, which included just enough poison to kill another person with, and strict lessons on hygiene and handling, and said, “That’s amazing. What is it that you’re doing for him?”

“They’re, well… they’re _physical_ enhancements,” Ashlynn said, and laughed, though there was a nervousness to it. “Not exactly like steroids but… but close enough, for general understanding. He’s quite nice to work with, honestly. Good at controlling himself, though I wish we had a better expert for the task. I’m worried something will go wrong.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Josepha said, putting her hand over Ashlynn’s. Almost immediately, worry melted into pleasure. “Hey, you know I’ve been flirting with you, don’t you?”

“I… I did notice, yes,” Ashlynn said, and the flush of her cheeks returned in full force.

“How do you feel about that?”

“I like it, it’s flattering.” The smaller woman smiled. “I’m not completely sure how to respond.”

“Do people not flirt with you usually?” Josepha asked. “Because it seems like a shame. You’re cute, and you’re so much smarter than I am.”

“I was so busy while I was working, and I think I will be again, but…” Ashlynn put her hands on Josepha’s arms, running her fingers along them. “I don’t mind with you. I think you’re very sweet.”

“For an assassin?”

“In general.” Ashlynn smiled up at her, and Josepha felt her breath catch, just in the way it had when Crowe had kicked her in the side. “What happens now?”

Josepha gripped the smaller woman and lifted her, setting her on one of the benches. It was low enough -- Ashlynn small enough -- that they could look each other in the eye, though Josepha was an inch or two shorter. None of this mattered when she leaned up to kiss the chemist, who made a soft noise -- pleased and not startled -- in reply.

Ashlynn’s lips felt warm, soft and sweet. Josepha pressed in, fitting between Ashlynn’s splayed legs, and her hands moved around to cup the smaller woman’s rear. Ashlynn’s fingers fluttered, like the wings of a butterfly or a small bird, searching for a place to hold Josepha amidst clumsy maintenance-worker’s gear.

When the smaller woman hooked a thumb underneath one of the suspenders to pull it down, Josepha smiled against her lips, and broke off the kiss. “We don’t want to do this in your lab, but you _could_ show me your room.”

“You’re right twice,” Ashlynn said, scooting a little closer, and ran her fingers up along Josepha’s neck. “You’ll have to let me down, though.”

“No,” Josepha said. Ashlynn peered at her, confused.

“No?”

“No,” Josepha affirmed and lifted the smaller woman again, this time scooping Ashlynn into her arms, and she laughed a little. “There’s only one place I’m putting you down again.”

Ashlynn giggled. “I understand. Don’t forget to turn the lights off. The door will lock after we go.”

Josepha kissed her in reply, tasting her mirth and joy, and then started to walk, navigating the lab with ease, though her progress was hampered by a desire to kiss and nuzzle Ashlynn, to feel the warmth of her touch. Eventually, she reached the door and turned, using her arm to turn off the light before swinging to push her hip against the door, opening it and taking them back out into the main living space.

“There,” Ashlynn said, pointing. “Just over there.”

Josepha followed her finger and nodded, walking towards the cluster of rooms at the heart of the apartment. Once again, she was struck by how strange the apartment’s structure was. _Not to mention, how would they have gotten all of Ash’s equipment in here without anyone noticing, considering how restricted the elevators are?_

It was something to consider when she wasn’t distracted, didn’t feel suffused with warmth at the thought of a nickname she hadn’t even voiced yet. When they reached the door, Josepha was forced to set Ashlynn down, to let her sort through keys and passcards before finding the right one and opening the door to the room.

This time, Ashlynn stretched up to kiss her, to wrap her arms around Josepha’s neck and pull her inside. Josepha let the door close behind them and then reached forward to put her hands on the chemist’s waist.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Ashlynn said. “But we don’t need to talk about that now, just… just us.”

“Absolutely, just us,” Josepha agreed, and let Ashlynn lead her towards the bed. She could sense, with the awareness she’d honed over years of assassinations, that the room was cluttered and the path across the floor was one of the few places to get by without kicking something, and idly wondered how long Ashlynn had lived here.

Ashlynn reached their destination first, and tugged Josepha down onto a bed that felt rumpled and unmade, as though its owner was unconcerned about how it looked to outsiders. “I’ll start cleaning up more if I’m going to have company, I promise.”

Josepha thought of her own apartment, more of a storage space than a living space, and shook her head. “You don’t have to. This is fine. It feels lived in.” She brought a hand up, stroking a thumb across Ashlynn’s cheek. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Ashlynn said again. “Are you? Are you worried?”

“Only about being too pushy since we just met,” Josepha said, and brushed her lips across Ashlynn’s forehead. Briefly, there was a sense of familiarity. “I feel like we’ve known each other forever.”

“I feel that way too, a little bit,” Ashlynn replied. “I know I want to touch you and know you again.”

“I’m glad.” Taking a breath, Josepha began with the lab coat, sweeping it from Ashlynn’s shoulders, and for lack of a better place to put it, she discarded it onto the floor and heard some of the pens fall out. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’ll pick everything up later. I have an idea.” Ashlynn twisted briefly, turning on a lamp that only provided dull illumination, creating pools of deep shadows. Where the light caught Ashlynn’s eyes, they seemed bright. “There, that will make things easier… and I want to see you.”

“Of course,” Josepha said, smiling. She brought a hand up, cupping Ashlynn’s cheek. “I want to see you too.”

Ashlynn leaned in and kissed her, and once again, Josepha felt overwhelmed by warmth as hands cupped her shoulders, working her suspenders off. The assassin’s hands moved to cup Ashlynn’s waist, and stroked gentle circles with her thumbs before tugging the chemist’s shirt upwards, exposing a thin undershirt. Josepha let her maintenance garb gather around her own waist, and pulled back a moment.

“I need to get my boots off,” she said, smiling. “I feel like I wore too many clothes.”

“You needed to sneak inside,” Ashlynn said, logically. “You didn’t know how today would end.”

“I didn’t,” Josepha agreed, and shifted, unbuckling the heavy boots and discarding them on the floor. Then she stood and pushed the maintenance overalls down, though Ashlynn was quick to help her, revealing a pair of light, quilted trousers underneath. “See what I mean?”

“You’re prepared,” Ashlynn encouraged. “It must have been hard to fight this way.”

“The weight isn’t so bad, I’m used to it,” Josepha said, and guided Ashlynn’s hands to her hips. So beckoned, Ashlynn stroked her thumbs along the waistband, and then tugged down, freeing Josepha from her trousers one inch at a time.

Eventually, Josepha had to stand, letting Ashlynn free her from her clothing, and stood exposed, bare brown thighs barely catching the room’s dim lighting. Immediately, Ashlynn had her hands on them, stroking, admiring the muscle she found there.

“You’re so strong,” the smaller woman whispered softly. “I can’t wait to see the rest of you.”

“Neither can I, but now it’s your turn,” Josepha said, Ashlynn’s enthusiasm thrilling through her. With a gentle hand, she pushed Ashlynn down onto the bed, kissing her amid the rumpled sheets. Josepha ran her hands along Ashlynn’s stomach, eager to see the soft skin underneath as much as she wanted to get her undressed.

Ashlynn ran her hands along Josepha’s arms, smiling up at her, bright and eager with enthusiasm. Josepha couldn’t help but to kiss her, again and again, while her hands worked lower, unbuttoning the smaller woman’s slacks and opening them. It was a moment’s work to hook her thumbs into Ashlynn’s waistband and draw her trousers down.

“Soft,” Josepha breathed and leaned in, kissing at her navel, then nuzzled down, between Ashlynn’s legs. “Pretty. Very pretty.”

“You’re wearing too much,” Ashlynn complained. “Or I am. Probably both?”

“Definitely both,” Josepha murmured. “Let me take care of you first.”

Ashlynn nodded, and Josepha rose a little, running her hands along the smaller woman’s stomach, the motion lifting up her undershirt, and, a moment later, pulled it off. She leaned in to kiss Ashlynn, running her hands along her stomach, and then moved behind to unclasp her bra. The other woman’s hands were on her, tugging at her shirt and pulling it up, eager to return the gesture.

Josepha smiled as she pulled back a little. “There’s so much I want to try with you, but you aren’t very experienced, or are you?”

“I know enough, I think, to be excited to see what your idea is.” Ashlynn smiled up at her in the near-darkness. “So tell me, _show_ me.”

“Well first, we need to get comfortable,” Josepha said, and moved to lay down on the bed, next to Ashlynn. “I need you to face away from me, all the better to cuddle you.”

“That sounds like an awful lot of me not getting to kiss you,” Ashlynn pouted, but rolled over, and immediately, Josepha pulled her in close, warm where their bodies pressed close together. Ashlynn laughed a little at the suddenness of the motion, and turned her head a little to meet the kiss Josepha offered, and the joyful sound faded into a soft, breathy moan.

“Plenty of kisses left,” Josepha murmured teasingly. “For now, let me take care of you.”

“I can’t wait,” Ashlynn said, and settled back. Josepha began by cupping one of her breasts, thumbing over the nipple. Short and blunt as her nails were, she still let one caress the tender pink flesh, scraping just enough to evoke a soft, needy gasp. Once firm, the angle of her hand changed, instead rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger. Josepha slipped her other arm underneath Ashlynn, just far enough to be able to stroke gentle fingers down her stomach.

“Good so far,” Josepha whispered, and kissed at Ashlynn’s ear. The way the smaller woman wriggled, eager and needy, was more than enough encouragement to continue. She hooked a thumb into the band of Ashlynn’s underwear and tugged downwards, then moved her hand around, drawing over the curve of her ass. A moment later, the hand on Ashlynn’s nipple dropped down, pulling down the thin cloth so that it only barely exposed her mound.

“You’re teasing me,” Ashlynn whined, and rolled her hips at the sensation of Josepha’s fingers tracing the inside of her thighs. “That’s so rude.”

“I want you to feel good for this,” Josepha teased. “I want this to be a fun experience.”

“It won’t be if I die of anticipation first,” Ashlynn grumbled, and then moaned, as the tips of Josepha’s fingers stroked over her entrance. “Please…”

“Of course,” Josepha murmured, and pressed her lips to the back of Ashlynn’s neck. “Of course I will.” At first, the assassin simply let her fingers drift, exploring the warm gift that had been given to her. Her fingers rubbed in a circle over the smaller woman’s clit, testing, hearing and feeling Ashlynn’s reaction, the way she wriggled eagerly. Josepha smiled.

With deliberate slowness, Josepha eased her fingertips into Ashlynn and her smile widened at the slick dampness she found and the first breathy moan that bloomed from Ashlynn’s lips. She shifted her own posture, fitting one of her legs between both of Ashlynn’s, and it pinned the smaller woman, even as it opened her to more.

“You’re doing that on purpose, I just want…”

“Show me,” Josepha breathed. “Show me what you want.”

Ashlynn seized her wrist and guided the motion, pushing Josepha’s fingers into her more deeply. Josepha pressed the root of her thumb against Ashlynn’s clit, and the smaller woman groaned. With the same motion, Josepha rolled her hips, adding to the sensations cascading over Ashlynn.

“Yes… just like that,” Ashlynn said. “Can you touch me a little more, or…”

“Let me handle it,” Josepha promised. “It will be good.”

“I know,” Ashlynn panted as Josepha began to move again. With each roll of her hips, Josepha pressed her fingers in more deeply, letting the rocking press Ashlynn against her hand. Her other arm, mostly trapped underneath the smaller woman, had enough room to move that Josepha could trace patterns against her stomach, teasing, caressing. With each soft, eager vocalization, Josepha kissed at her neck and shoulder, sucking lightly at Ashlynn’s skin.

All of it was wrapped together so deliberately that they were tangled in each other, inseparable, and the thought of it thrilled Josepha, and she increased her pace as Ashlynn’s movements became more deliberate and eager, writhing in Josepha’s arms.

“Yes… yes…” Ashlynn whispered, like a litany. “Please, oh…”

“Almost,” Josepha murmured, letting the words vibrate against the chemist’s skin. “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re so perfect… you’re _mine.”_

Each word was punctuated by a deep thrust, and the grind of Josepha’s hips. She would need to touch herself when Ashlynn was done, or ask her lover to do it for her, the ideal. The smaller woman’s breathing was coming in hitched near-sobs as she drove Josepha deeper, clinging to her wrist.

At the moment when it all seemed to peak, Josepha bit into Ashlynn’s shoulder, and rocked hard. Ashlynn orgasmed a moment afterwards, her movements frantic as Josepha’s fingers worked.

“You… I…” Ashlynn managed after she calmed. “That was wonderful. I want my turn, after I just… close my eyes for a moment.”

“Would it help if I took your underwear off?” Josepha teased, and Ashlynn made a grumpy noise in reply. The assassin did as promised, slipping off Ashlynn’s underwear, and then her own, letting Ashlynn feel the dampness amid the curls on her mound. “Whenever you’re ready, Ash.”

“A nickname? I like it.” Ashlynn slumped forward a little, and Josepha arranged her arms around her, holding her carefully. As they shifted, she caught sight of something dark on her lover’s shoulder. She drew back a moment to look. “What is it?”

“I didn’t think you were the kind of person to get a tattoo,” Josepha murmured, and traced her finger along the first circle, and then the two others, clustered in a triangle. “Is this something special?”

“It is, but I can tell you about it later,” Ashlynn shifted back and Josepha smiled, quickly tugging her into her arms to embrace her. “I can even show you where I got it.”

“Sure, I want to hear all about it,” Josepha agreed, and let her eyes drift closed, entirely pleased with herself.

~ * ~

Crowe watched Josepha and Ashlynn leave and heaved out a deep breath. “I guess that’s as much a sign as anything else, isn’t it?”

Brant shrugged, philosophical. “It’s like that. Let’s give them some time, I can show you the other half of the apartment.”

Crowe nodded, and glanced over as Susanne approached Malcador, and the pair of them spoke quietly. “Something up with them?”

“No idea, it isn’t my business,” Brant said. “I just hit things.”

Crowe nodded once. “Then it’s not my business either. Where to first?”

Brant gestured towards a door, nearer to the entrance. “This is actually where the kitchen is. You got in through the window, and Hexx, the door. You wouldn’t have been able to come in through the other walls, because most of them don’t have real windows, just glass covering a wall.”

“...to channel us into where Malcador could sit and watch us fight.” Crowe scowled. “He’s really setting himself up to be some kind of chessmaster, isn’t he?”

“Lord Malcador,” Brant corrected. “He _is_ our boss, after all.”

“I don’t do great with authority, but fine, if that’s what he insists on.” Crowe rolled his eyes. “So is _Lord_ Malcador setting himself up like some kind of mastermind or what?”

“I don’t know,” Brant said, and Crowe felt a prickle of frustration along his arms that crawled up his spine and settled at the base of his neck. “You want smarts, that’s probably going to be Ashlynn. Sue’s a soldier, and I’m a bodybuilder. I train to fight, but it’s nothing as sophisticated as what you and Hexx were doing during your mix-up.”

“I guess I’ll get my chance to talk to him in the morning,” Crowe said. “So, what’s in the kitchen?”

“Food, appliances, cold storage.” Brant led the way in, opening the door and turning on the light. Crowe bit back a gasp. His own living space was modest, since he needed to spend much of the money he stole on bribes, security, and new equipment to lift himself to greater heights, but there was a casual wealth here, one born of generations, not years or even decades, of wealth.

The countertops were a smooth, grey-black marble, swirling with abstract patterns, and the cupboards and walls white, edged with chequered patterns of grey, black, and red. The refrigerators -- and there were two -- were massive grey steel, humming with a life of their own. There were three ovens -- convection, toaster, and microwave -- arranged neatly, close enough to each other to be helpful, but not so close as to be interfering.

Crowe’s eyes were wide with wonder, and after a moment, cleared his throat. “What, no dishwasher?”

Brant rolled his eyes. “I’ve been informed that we have hands. No idea how Lord Malcador handles it, since I never really see him eat.”

“Servants, probably. There are people who would sacrifice limbs to get to work in a place like this.”

“No servants here, just us,” Brant said, shrugging, and Crowe stared at him. “What?”

“Who _cleans_ this place?” Crowe demanded. “Who’s going to fix the window?”

“I think you’re thinking about this too much,” Brant said, shifting uncomfortably.

“I don’t think you’re thinking about it _enough,”_ Crowe muttered. “Fine, fine. This is the kitchen. What’s next?”

“Dining area, attached to the kitchen,” Brant said, eyeing him a little before heading through the archway. Again, there were demonstrations of wealth here, rich carpeting and fine, off-world wood. There were objects locked inside cabinets, artwork in and of itself.

Within his mind, Crowe began to calculate how valuable some of it was, and it was staggering. “And you just… just eat here? Casually.”

“Yeah, I mean… I’ve only lived here a few months. Sue’s been here the longest, then Ash, and then me. I’m from down hive. Way, way, down hive.”

“At least I don’t have to worry that I’m not getting paid,” Crowe murmured. “Did the apartment always look like this?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Brant said, shrugging. “Before you arrived, some stuff came, probably for you and Hexx. He was waiting for you.”

“...like a chessmaster, waiting for me to make my move.” Crowe took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He could still see the STC’s image, floating within the projection. It shone in his mind, like a treasure hoard of gold and jewels, platinum and rare wood. The reward was certainly incentive, but it was the prize that enticed him most. To put his hands on it…

“You going to be okay?” Brant asked, concerned. “There’s a lot of apartment to cover and I really did want to go to bed sooner rather than later.”

“Right, yes,” Crowe said, taking a breath. “I was just thinking. Show me the rest.”

The rest of the apartment passed in a daze: there was a laundry room, equipped in ways that made even Crowe surprised, though without servants, he had no idea how they would use some of the specialty equipment it possessed, and then they were out in the hallway, for lack of a better term, the space between rooms.

Brant pointed out each of the special rooms that were created just for them, his tone never reaching beyond the polite lack of curiosity that he approached everything with. Part of Crowe itched to ask more questions, but it felt like _things_ kept being piled onto him, more and more, until his mind was fit to burst.

 _Who affords this, and how?_ he wondered as he nodded dutifully, looking at the length of Susanne’s range, and Brant’s own gym. _How does any of it get built?_

“I don’t know if they’re busy in the lab, but Ashlynn’s got one, and you and Hexx have your own.” Brant ushered Crowe out, and brought him to another room and opened it. “Now that you’re here, you’ll be able to lock it if you want, so no one messes with your stuff. Most of us don’t care, but Ash has some pretty intense stuff.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Crowe said, stepping inside. Brant flicked on the lights. “I’m curious to know what she--”

The sight of the room, _his_ work space, filled him with awe all over again. Two of the walls were covered in massive screens, hooked up to computer banks that blinked sleepily in the light, as though having been woken up suddenly. On another wall were a series of safes and vault doors, many with electronic doors, but others physical locks, requiring as much manual dexterity as wit. There were benches filled with tools, some very like the ones he’d used to get inside Malcador’s apartment, but somehow even higher quality.

Ropes and grapples, sturdy gear as light as it was protective, countless lockpicks and more. Crowe found himself speechless and, after a moment, Brant cleared his throat, grounding him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowe said, and forced himself to focus. “This is just a little overwhelming. More than a little, if I’m being honest. I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.”

“This is the kind of thing Lord Malcador offers us,” Brant said, leaning against the door frame. “The power to be the best we can be. If we can pull off the job he wants, we’re set for the rest of our lives.”

“...and if we can’t?”

Brant shrugged, as he’d done all too often in the past. “I can’t say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DVD Commentary Notes on Tumblr: [Chapter 8](https://ivorytowerblr.tumblr.com/post/185025115316/wh20k-fic-court-of-stars-part-862-epilogue)


	3. Chapter 9

“So, this is the layout of the primary manufacturing facility in Hive Quintus,” Crowe began. “One of the safest places on Nostramo, much less in this city. We’re going to need to get around that to be able to complete our job.”

Morning had seen the five of them convene in the dining area, eating breakfast amidst bleary-eyed stares. Crowe himself had not slept entirely restfully, still overawed by his new circumstances. It was easier to understand why Brant asked so few questions, even if concerns still lingered in the back of Crowe’s mind.

Josepha and Ashlynn, of course, had come to breakfast together, fingers intertwined and smiling.

Their new employer had not shown up to breakfast, and Crowe had assumed the man slept during the day, which would explain more than it didn’t about his habits, but when they’d filed out to explore in daylight, there he had been with the projector, ready to explain how the devices worked so that they could begin to plan.

“A lot of safe places aren’t as safe as they seem,” Josepha pointed out, leaning in. “They need points of entry for all kinds of employees. Maintenance workers, sustenance providers, haulers. Those are the ways in. We need personnel lists.”

“Now… I’m no expert,” Brant said slowly. “But wouldn’t those lists be inside the manufacturing plant? The one we’re trying to break into? How will that help us?”

“The ones for the plant, maybe, but we can observe the outsiders that come in. Find out the names of their suppliers and maintenance workers. We go to _their_ place of business and break in to get the information. If they’re too well-guarded, we see who works for them, and so on. It might take a few extra steps, but they can’t guard the entire chain.” Josepha looked up at her team and smiled. “We’ve got this.”

“Infiltrating their forces is only the first stage. We need to establish the idea that we belong there,” Crowe said, tapping at the screen. “I usually break, then enter, but infiltration means needing to become a part of the process for a time.”

“The way Josie did to get into this building, right?” Ashlynn said, and Josepha smiled.

 _Josie, hm?_ Crowe mused. “Essentially, yes. Getting in won’t do you much good if everyone who sees you realizes that you don’t belong.”

“We need to establish a pattern of movements that we can use to slip closer to where the STC is being held,” Josepha said. She tapped at the image and it wavered. “A good infiltration takes time, patience, resources. Normally speaking I work alone, or rarely, with a partner. I’m not sure how all five of us are going to get in.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Malcador said, and Crowe started, looking over at their patron. “The team’s expertise is required, but not specifically for infiltration. If you can only insert two people into that part of the operation then that is who will be going in. Once that portion is complete, you can move on to the next stage.”

“Then why assemble so many of us?” Josepha asked, gesturing. “It’s not cheap getting one of us to work for you for this long, much less all five. Why hire more people than you strictly need?”

“What makes you think that you won’t need them?” Malcador’s eyes glittered from underneath his cowl. “I promise you, every last one of you will serve your most admirable purpose before the STC lies in my hands.”

“I’m not worried, Josie,” Ashlynn said, touching Josepha’s arm lightly. “I know what I’m about.”

Crowe looked back at the projection as Josepha took Ashlynn’s hand and kissed her fingers, and not even the flickering lights of the projection could hide the look of devotion on the assassin’s face. _I don’t know how smart it is to get attached to someone so quickly, but… maybe it’s just something they need._

“So, once we have that information, what happens next?” Brant asked. “There’s going to be a point at which changing outfits just isn’t going to help us, isn’t there?”

“By that time, if we’ve done this right, we’ll have enough information to peel back the layers of security to get inside,” Josepha said, taking a breath. “Though we’d be getting out of _my_ area of expertise.”

“Breaking into a place does involve a lot of research,” Crowe said. “Just like infiltration. Where Josepha uses that information to get to her target without needing to break too many locks, I use it to get past them, and ideally, I want to involve as few people as possible in what I’m doing.”

“So, how are we getting past them?”

“Well, it’s like this,” Crowe said, and tapped the controller. “We’re not going to find the STC where everyone is working. It’s a computer, or attached to one, so we’re going to have to find where they store it when it’s not being used, or if it’s always being used, where they keep it for that purpose. We can expect to find it in a room kept separate from the rest of the manufacturing plant.”

“In the place where I used to work, there were administration offices that were sealed off mostly from the rest of the plant, though still inside it and within its security purview,” Ashlynn said, studying the schematic. “We worked with chemicals, we couldn’t expose computers or the filing system to them. It’s just unsafe.”

Crowe nodded. “Server rooms are usually kept cool, too, since the hardware inside them runs hot and can potentially be damaged by it. No one wants to fry all of that sensitive information.”

“We’ll have to make sure there are no alarms that will sound once we take the STC,” Josepha said, nodding to Crowe. “There will likely be security on it.”

“More than likely, there will be some kind of alarm if the process is disrupted, actually,” Ashlynn said. “They’d need to know if something was ever knocked out of alignment, or if there weren’t receiving trays ready to be filled. If they have any confidence at all in their security measures, _that_ will be what they’re looking for. Not theft, error.”

“A good point,” Josepha said, smiling over at her. “We’ll need to deal with that possibility too.”

“How specific is it likely to be?” Crowe asked, frowning at the image. It was calling to him, a siren’s song. He _wanted_ it like nothing else. _I don’t think I’d refuse to hand it over to Malcador. It’s the hunt that matters, the chase. I wouldn’t even begin to know what to do with it._ “Is it going to be reading for a code, or more like a sensor?”

“A sensor, in my experience,” Ashlynn said. “With canisters and the like, there was enough time that you could replace one if you were quick without setting off the alarm, but with an STC, who knows?”

“The manufacturing plant is capable of working without accessing the Library for a time, though not forever,” Malcador interjected. “You are, none of you, particularly familiar with the way STCs work, are you?”

“I’ll admit, no, but I’ve never needed to be,” Crowe said. “Though we all know how important they are.”

“Indeed they are, one of the greatest gifts ever given to humanity,” Malcador agreed. “Properly, what we call an STC is a fraction of the true power of the system used to create it. It is an artificially intelligent computer system that responds to the needs of those who command it. If one needs a kind of auger to dig deeply into a particularly stubborn kind of earth, a request to the STC system will grant it. These are not one-time affairs, and within the system’s databanks a library is created, allowing operators to search for a particular design rather than waiting for an entirely new design. Each of these new designs is a template. Templates make up the library, and libraries are in-loaded into the system.”

“It seems like an individual template is going to be a lot less valuable than the entire system,” Brant said slowly, considering. “Not that the whole thing isn’t valuable. And these are, what, everywhere?”

“On every one of our colonies, yes,” Malcador said. “Though they’re only produced on Mars, and no template exists to create an STC system. Perhaps the Martians fear to lose their monopoly on such things.”

“Still…” Crowe said. “We live in an age of wonders, to be able to just… create like that.”

“Artificial intelligences are dangerous,” Susanne reminded them, speaking up finally. “Just because this system can’t walk around or shoot people doesn’t mean that it isn’t.”

“Is that why we’re stealing it?” Ashlynn asked, her voice soft. “Because it’s dangerous?”

“No,” Malcador said. “While Susanne is correct, that artificial intelligence has come to be seen as very dangerous, the STC system has long been considered to be stable, and safe. Its intelligence comes from its ability to learn and adapt its processes for the sake of humanity, not from any capacity to foment rebellion.”

“So, why _are_ we stealing it?” Brant asked, and Crowe straightened to look to Malcador, seated as he was in his throne, Susanne at his side. The others turned to gaze at their patron as well, expectant, curious.

“I don’t intend to share the details with you, that is… above your pay grade, but know that it is absolutely necessary to the protection and defense of not just this world, but many, dotted as they are among the stars.”

“...so, what happens once we take it?” Josepha asked. “Does the manufacturing stop?”

“No,” Malcador said, simply. “Every construct template that remains will be at their disposal. Unless something radical and drastic happens, there will be no need for its services.”

~ * ~

“Do you think he really has our best interests at heart?” Crowe asked, huddled in his coat like a brooding, dark-feathered bird. “Not us, specifically, but this city’s. Nostramo’s as a whole.”

Below him, he watched the cleaning crew at the Greater Quintus Hospital go about their business. It was a large enough institution to contract out their cleaning, and so too was the manufacturing plant they would be at several hours later.

“For fuck’s sakes, I don’t know,” Josepha hissed in his ear. He wore a small, subtle piece of plastic around his ear, curved like the piece of jewelry it was emulating, and Josepha wore a similar device, bringing their voices close. “For all we know he’s just going to take it and fuck off with it.”

“Then we shouldn’t do this, not if it’s going to cause the fall of the whole city,” Crowe muttered, and gazed down. It was easy to see what the cleaners were wearing, generic in their grey-white. They worked without coats or gloves, and he shivered in sympathy. “We need to bug out, now.”

“You, of all people, are getting cold feet about this?” Josepha murmured. He couldn’t see her, she was stationed at a different entrance, but he could imagine her gripping at his wrist, holding him, shaking him a little bit in her exasperation. “You’re a professional thief.”

“I steal expensive crap no one needs.” Crowe shifted, careful not to give himself away. “Not the literal foundation of our civilization.”

“Nostramo’s not going to fall apart without the STC system,” Josepha insisted. “We’re leaving them with the library. There are millions of designs in that thing. The only way that would happen is if the library were to be destroyed, and that’s _not_ what the plan is. Is it?”

“Well--”

 _“Is_ it?”

“No,” Crowe conceded. “It’s not. Assuming that all goes to plan, which it… may, still. If we can all work together towards this end. I’m a little worried about the extraneous people, though… especially the need for a sniper. Ashlynn’s had some good insights, and if we can dress Brant just right he’ll fit in, but she barely speaks and never really contributes.”

“Could be a military thing,” Josepha noted. “I’m not exactly the discipline and honourable combat sort myself, but snipers can be helpful for taking out targets. We may have to kill people to pull this off.”

“I know.” Crowe fell silent, instead focusing on the people moving inside. It seemed as though these cleaners brought supplies with them, and likely tools, carrying them in huge crates. A few of them looked to share Brant’s general build, while at least one of the supervisors was of a height with Ashlynn, small as she was, and he made note of it. He was timing them as well, watching their movements back and forth, as well as the time they spent inside.

He, like Josepha, was building up a timeline in his head, how long it took routine employees to get where they needed to go and get back out again. All of this would allow them to get inside, to gather information, and plan for a deeper infiltration. It was hard to hold the ideas in his head; doubts remained, regardless of the assassin's reassurance.

Crowe activated his microphone again. “But what if--”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Josepha growled. “We’re performing reconnaissance. Leave it until we get back to the spire, at least.”

“I thought you were supposed to be _less_ grumpy once you started getting laid,” Crowe shot back, stung. “Not more.”

“I might very well be, but _you_ aren’t the one I’m fucking.”

“...congratulations about that, by the way,” Crowe murmured. “You seem very happy.”

“We are,” Josepha said. “I might even get to retire after this mission. With that kind of money -- and that kind of heat -- pooling our resources to find ourselves a quiet place to live in a different hive sounds just about right.”

“I hope it works out,” Crowe said. “I--” For a moment, amid the flutter of dirty snowflakes that managed to make it past the huge, hulking spires that served as windbreaks, he thought he saw a flash of light against metal.

“Did you see that?” Josepha asked, tense. “Someone’s watching us.”

“Someone is,” Susanne broke in over their communications channel, her voice crisp. “Someone was asked to take long-range photographs of the uniforms so that we can replicate them correctly.”

“...ah,” Crowe said. “So, you heard…”

“Your inability to maintain radio discipline, yes,” the sniper said. “Fortunately, that wasn’t the reason either of you were chosen for this mission. Lord Malcador says you need to wrap up your information gathering. It’s going to get cold, and he won’t have you injuring yourselves or getting sick.”

“Thank Lord Malcador for his concern,” Josepha said after a moment. “And thank you for your vigilance.”

“It is my duty as a contributing member of this team,” Susanne replied crisply. “Decair, out.”

Crowe closed his eyes briefly, and then moved to descend from his perch, and activated his radio for a moment later. “Sorry.”

There was no reply from either woman, and Crowe sighed, breath pluming out into the cold, and began his descent.

~ * ~

“So,” Brant said, throwing an arm around Crowe’s shoulder as he worked himself out of his cold-stiffened coat. “I hear you have a moral issue with our assignment.”

“Oh my god, does everyone know?” Crowe muttered, and felt his ears burn. _Though, that might be the cold, actually._ “I’m sorry, I didn’t know everyone was listening in.”

“Something you need to expect, Little Bird,” Brant said, and punched at his shoulder, seemingly affectionate. Crowe rocked a little, and pulled his coat off, then hung it up. “We’re a team now.”

“I’m… I’m sure we are,” Crowe said. “Am I the only one worried about this?”

“Probably,” Brant said, and shrugged. “I feel like I’m being paid too much to get worked up about it.”

“We can’t spend our money if there’s no one left to buy from,” Crowe pointed out. “You can’t just throw lines of credit at the sky and expect food from the heavens.”

“And yet, that is essentially what off-world imports are, depending on your point of view,” Malcador said, and Crowe started. Considering he kept the company of assassins and snipers, he found himself surprised by the old man quite often. “Come, sit with me.”

“Sure,” Crowe said, and pushed Brant’s arm off of him before working the stiff buckles on his boots open enough that he could pull them off and pad over to where Malcador was taking his customary seat. “I suppose there’s no point in hiding that I have misgivings about this, and saying stuff like ‘certain point of view’ isn’t really helping. That usually means someone is either lying or deliberately obfuscating the truth.”

“It can, certainly,” Malcador said, and laced his fingers together. “Do you believe that honesty is important?”

“Yes, to build trust,” Crowe said, and took a seat near him. “Obviously, there are plenty of reasons to lie to people. To protect them, to keep secrets, to manipulate them into doing what you want them to do. None of those reasons base themselves in trust, though.”

“No, I suppose not,” Malcador said. “Do you believe ignorance protects people?”

“No, not really,” Crowe said, shaking out his hair. “I think it can help cushion people’s minds from things that are hard to conceptualize or understand, but that knowledge should be there and available if they’re ready to see it. Secrets and lies hide truth.”

“I can see you value truth,” Malcador said. “There are truths, however, that would not simply baffle minds not equipped for their existence, but damage them. Drive them mad.”

“I don’t believe truth is capable of doing that,” Crowe said, stubbornly. “You have to look reality in the eye, face it directly. Denying it or trying to run from it is foolish.”

“An interesting point of view, to be sure, and a valid one,” Malcador said. “So, you would have the truth from me, would you?”

“I would, yes,” Crowe said. “As thorough as possible, please.”

“Very well,” Malcador said, and raised his gaze to meet Crowe’s. “I require an STC system so that I can bring it back to Earth to give to a friend of mine, a lifelong companion with a dream of equipping an army beyond the likes of which anyone has ever seen. He required a system from this world, owing to its similarity in size, structure, and layout to that of Earth, which would make it easier for the artificial intelligence within the system to adapt to his particular needs. Does that help?”

“Are you… are you serious?” Crowe stared at the old man, who smiled at him, maddeningly. “Who is this friend of yours? Why are they trying to start a war?!”

“A number of interesting questions,” Malcador said, and Crowe fought the urge to hit him, to lash out. “Yes, I’m quite serious. I will not tell you my friend’s name, but you will know him to see him, and he isn’t trying to _start_ a war, but end it. The galaxy is dark and full of horrors, and we must bring light to all of its dark corners. For now, illumination comes in fits and starts, just as a lightning bolt brightens the night sky during a storm.”

“There is no storm,” Crowe said. “We’re in the greatest age we’ve ever been in.”

“Perhaps,” Malcador said. “Perhaps you are ignorant of the truth, of the storm that comes, that builds. You are blind to much of what goes on around you, and there is no shame in that. There is much you are not ready for.”

“That sounds like patronizing, condescending bullshit,” Crowe spat. “It sounds like you’re trying to start some kind of… of _crusade,_ and look, here’s a convenient way to justify it. An arms race, an escalation of conflict, one only _you_ and this so-called friend of yours are cooking up.”

“Interesting that you seem to be willing to believe _some_ of the truth but not all of it,” Malcador observed, and Crowe glared at him. “More interesting which parts of the truth you choose to cling to, and which parts you’re discarding. Why is that, Blakk Crowe? Why do you pick and choose your truths?”

“Because… because it’s bullshit,” Crowe said. “There’s just no way.”

“...and now you know why people are lied to, because the truth is too unpalatable for their tastes,” Malcador said, and sighed. Anger boiled up inside Crowe, but the old man held up a hand to forestall him. “There is no point in growing angry about it. You would not be the first to deny the truth when  you hear it, or even see it. There is an allegory, of a cave, involving light and ignorance.”

“Really,” Crowe said, flexing his fingers. “How does that go?”

“A group of humans live within a cave, deep within its recesses. They live by the light of a single fire. One of the humans decides to take a torch from the fire and begins to explore the cave. Eventually, he finds himself outside the cave. He sees the sun for the first time. It overwhelms him, and he is fearful. He hides in the cave but, in time, dares to leave again and again until his eyes are accustomed to the light, and he can no longer bear to live in darkness.”

“Light is truth, darkness is ignorance, I get it.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not.” Malcador gestured with one hand. “The man, filled with this light, returns to the deep recesses to the cave and urges those surrounding the campfire to follow him, offering to teach them of this new truth. When they behold the light, they are frightened, as he was, but the man tries to convince them to stay and learn, as he did. They flee, and when he tries to get them to return, in their fear and their ignorance of true light, they kill him.”

 _The truth doesn’t have to be harsh,_ Crowe thought. _It doesn’t have to come without warning. Those who have knowledge should share it in a way that can be understood by those they’re teaching. We don’t hurl novels at infants expecting them to be able to read because most adults can. Learning is a process. Truth is a process._

“Humans, in general, are ignorant and barbaric, regardless of how reasoned they try to seem and act.” There was a hint of frustration, of bitterness, in Malcador’s tone, and even Brant, caught between the pair of them, shifted uncomfortably. “Only a few will ever be fully capable of understanding the truth of the universe without going mad. As such, those whom we would rally to our cause must remain largely ignorant of our purposes, so that they do not turn on us, nor retreat back into darkness. This is our greatest age, an age of enlightenment.”

“An age where you need to hire some of the ignorant to freeze their asses off to steal something for your crusade to bring light into darkness,” Crowe said, his tone sarcastic.

To his surprise, Malcador smiled, the curve of it hidden within the shadow of his cowl.

“Exactly. Now you understand what you need to know.”

~ * ~

Josepha stood in her lab, and for a moment, simply enjoyed the feeling of being alone. It was not, as some might assume, some kind of terrible, darkened lair of a heartless killer. There would be no bodies hanging from the ceiling, no flayed skins or obsidian thrones here.

Josepha Hexx was a professional assassin, not a serial killer, and certainly not a monster.

Instead, her studio was brightly lit and neatly organized by a loving hand. Whoever built this place hadn’t simply guessed what she might think was useful and supplied her with it. They _knew_ what she needed above all, and idly, she wondered if all of their work spaces were like this. She didn’t know enough about chemistry to know if Ashlynn had felt the same way about her lab, or Brant about his gym.

Much of the room was given over not to killing tools, but to _resources,_ a subtlety that Josepha appreciated greatly. She didn’t need a vast arsenal of weapons, though they helped. She could kill with her bare hands if she needed to, and a few, specialized weapons did her far more good than an armory of random blades, ropes, and chains.

Josepha was, above all, a professional, and professionals needed knowledge.

Malcador -- presumably -- had provided her with information, reams and reams of it. There were lists of every cleaning company in the city, which was how she and Crowe had formed their plan of attack, and if their employees could be named and identified, they were. At her fingertips she had the safety and security of thousands of people, ready to be used as needed.

That was more of a thrill than killing someone, truth be told.

Every business in Hive Quintus, from the greatest mega-corporations to the smallest single-owner shops, was listed for her to browse through, tagged with metadata that would allow her to find anything and everything to suit her needs. Some businesses would be valuable for infiltration purposes, while others would be used for simpler things, like finding out who made the uniforms they’d need to fit in, where one could buy cable or wire or rope, or indeed, where one might pick up a specific kind of weapon to perform an assassination.

It was a thrill, a _rush,_ and for a little while, Josepha just stared, letting herself become lost in the information superhighway.

 _No time to be distracted,_ she reminded herself, and broke contact with the screens. There _were_ tools here, though not all of them were obviously for assassination. Josepha found bafflers for palm readers and password scramblers, allowing her to get past physical locks. For more direct entry there were small, localized explosives meant to destroy locking mechanisms that might keep her from a target. There were acids for dissolving metal and, amusingly, small but potent vials of poisons meant for more subtle killings, as well as drugs to knock out targets and minimize casualties.

 _I wonder if Ash made these, or if he found them elsewhere?_ Josepha mused, caressing one of the bottles gently before turning away, and moving towards the huge, wall-spanning closet. Clothes were as much an important part of an assassination as tools, and here was space to store a near-endless supply of disguises. Scarves to hide her hair and her tattoos, gloves and boots and protective eyewear. She found sturdy trousers and comfortable, flexible shirts, though she had to frown at one of her options. _Really? A full-spandex bodysuit? Who do they think I am, a cartoon?_

Still, Josepha ran her fingers down a particularly plush sweater, reveling in the feeling as she touched it. This would be perfect for infiltration on cold nights or, perhaps, to wear with a certain special someone while they remained indoors, drinking warm drinks and curled up to one another.

 _Focus. Focus. Don’t be like Crowe, we have a job to do._ With the information they now had, they could proceed to the next phase, infiltrating the cleaning crews and scouting around inside. Simple. Elegant. Perfect. All they had to do was--

Flash.

Darkness had fallen over Hive Quintus, over Nostramo itself. The buildings were mouldering, rotting on their foundations, driving deep into the core of the world. Air pollution made it hard to breathe, hard to cope. Pale people who had never seen sunlight wore masks to cover their faces.

Skinny. Dirty. Afraid.

Flash.

Josepha sucked in a breath, digging her fingers into the hanging sweater, amazed it hadn’t ripped under her touch. She forced herself to focus, to _think._

 _I’m imagining things,_ she told herself sternly. _Crowe’s paranoia just got to me, that’s all. Nothing bad will happen to this planet just because we’re stealing the STC system. All of Malcador’s arguments are sound._

Josepha took the sweater from the hangar and pulled it on, trying to draw the same comfortable feeling from it that she had before. It worked, though slowly, and she smiled, calming. She turned away from her closet and took a step back into the room.

Flash.

A scream split the air, and her head turned towards the sound. Gangs of men roamed the streets, armed with bats wrapped in rusted barbed wire. Children wailed as they clutched at their parents, the blood on their hands vivid, fresh, as though the young ones themselves were bleeding. Broken windows and smashed lights were everywhere, and many of the storefronts were boarded up; nothing to sell, nothing to buy.

Above it all was Hive Quintus, staring down, coldly indifferent to the suffering of those down below. Someone could see it all, and didn’t care. Refused to care.

She had to do something. She clenched her fists and they felt strange, slick. Distracted, she looked down and found her hands coated with dark red.

 _The blood,_ she thought numbly. _The blood is on my hands._

She felt herself fall, crashing to the ground, her jaw clenched tight.

Flash.

She had fallen on the floor. Her shoulder hurt, having borne the brunt of her weight. She took in breaths with great, sucking gasps, and it took time to get herself under control.

 _What’s happening to me?_ Josepha wondered, suddenly fearful. _What’s going on?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DVD Commentary Notes on Tumblr: [Chapter 9](https://ivorytowerblr.tumblr.com/post/185186394496/wh20k-fic-court-of-stars-part-962-epilogue)


	4. Chapter 10

“Feel any better?” Brant asked, his voice mild. Crowe punched at the speed bag, and it made a nearly satisfying sound.

But only nearly.

“I feel like I’m hitting things,” Crowe replied tersely. “Are you satisfied with anything we just heard?”

“I don’t know how much I _understand_ of what we just heard.” Brant shrugged a little. “We started talking about lights and caves. I didn’t exactly join Lord Malcador’s group to philosophize.”

“I don’t like it and I don’t trust it,” Crowe said. “I just don’t know what to _do_ about it other than walk away.”

“That seems like a simple choice, then,” Brant said, shrugging again. “Either we complete this or we don’t.”

“...but I want to.” Crowe hit the speed bag hard, and Brant snorted. “What? I knew from the first I wanted to steal it.”

“So why are you worrying about it, in that case?” Brant asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve already made up your mind, so why spend all of this time asking questions?”

“...I like to ask questions,” Crowe muttered, and sighed. “It’s important to me, personally.”

“I think you’re stressing yourself out for no reason,” Brant said, and grabbed for the speed bag. Crowe’s fist, encased in a glove, impacted against it, but the bigger man did not flinch or seem moved. “I think you _can_ trust Lord Malcador to pay you for the STC system, and then you don’t really have to worry any more, about anything. You don’t even have to stay.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Crowe muttered, and stepped back. “Fine, I’ll just… put it out of my mind.”

“See, there you go,” Brant said, nodding encouragingly. “Just focus on what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Sure, I suppose,” Crowe said, and took a deep breath. “We have a solid first stage plan, I feel. All we need to do is see it through and then form the second stage. Josepha is our expert for this kind of thing, she’s…”

“A professional?” Brant grinned. “She definitely is. Threw you around really good.”

“No,” Crowe said, rolling his eyes. “I’d completely forgotten.” He moved towards the small shower area that had been installed in the far corner of Brant’s gym. While his own studio had areas built with physical exertion in mind -- usually climbing or hanging from curious and perilous locations -- Brant’s was meant to develop raw muscle.

Sometimes, one just had to hit things to work through an idea, and Crowe had needed to quite badly after his talk with Malcador. He stripped his clothes off, discarding them before stepping into the shower and turned it on. He closed his eyes as the water struck his back and neck, and slowly began to relax. After a moment, he raised one hand up and began to scrub.

“You put up a good fight, though,” Brant said, raising his voice and positioning himself so that he avoided looking into the cube shower stall. “I was impressed, considering you look like a skinny nerd.”

“Thanks,” Crowe said. “It wasn’t the first time I’d fought someone and it probably won’t be the last.”

“The thing with the coat was smart,” the bodybuilder continued as Crowe helped himself to the provided soaps. “And the thing with the floor was cool too.”

“I was worried I’d pull something,” Crowe admitted. “In my neck or back. Also, for the state of my kidneys.”

“I don’t think Lord Malcador would have _let_ Hexx stab you,” Brant said. “He thought you’d both done well.”

“It’s so weird that you were watching us,” Crowe noted. “How did _you_ get tested, anyway?”

“Obviously, he admired my muscles,” Brant said, and Crowe could hear the grin in his voice. “I think he used a measuring tape.”

“Please, there’s no way.” Crowe fell silent, seeing to his ablutions. Out of his line of sight, he heard Brant moving around the gym, cleaning and arranging things. _I have to admire his clarity, if nothing else. I feel like he just has no doubts about this whatsoever, or if he does, he’s not sharing them with me._

Crowe sighed, blowing a faint spray of steaming water into the air. He still turned Malcador’s words over in his mind, wondering if any of it was true, if any of it _could_ be true. The notion that he had some kind of far-away ally, bent on supplying an army that didn’t exist for a war that hadn’t started, to provide illumination to a people dwelling in darkness. It seemed… overwrought.

 _It’s hard to believe anything he has to say, considering how much he likes to jerk us around,_ Crowe thought, soaping his hair thoroughly. _Though, if he_ is _telling the truth, it might explain where he got the funds to provide all of this for us. But he could just be eccentric, and wants to fuck with me for asking so many questions during our observation mission. There’s no_ real _way to tell the truth from the lies. Not from here, anyway._

From just on the edge of his periphery, he heard a noise, the door of the gym opening, and shuffled a little further in, hoping he was well out of line of sight.

Over the water, he heard Ashlynn, and as he parsed her words, his eyes widened:

“You have to come immediately,” Ashlynn said. “I think Josepha is hurt!”

“We’ll be there,” Brant assured her, and then raised his voice. “Crowe!”

“Yeah!” Crowe called back, and hastily began to rinse himself. He heard the door close a few moments later, and when he deemed himself to be soap-free, he turned off the water and grabbed for the towel hanging nearby. _What could have hurt her here? Was there a break-in?_

The thief dried himself briskly, and then wrapped the towel around his waist, hastening to find the others. Fortunately, it was a short journey, owing as much to the fact that Josepha’s lab door was thrown open as anything else.

Crowe hurried closer, peering over Brant’s shoulders to look at his fallen comrade. The assassin was lying on the floor, her face twisted in pain and her breathing harsh and laboured. Ashlynn and Brant were speaking in hushed, worried tones, discussing whether or not it was safe to move her.

“Any idea what happened?” Crowe asked. “She doesn’t look wounded.”

“No,” Ashlynn said, her voice cracking. “I was looking to talk to her about the next phase in the plan, and I just… just…”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Crowe said, and reached out, touching at Josepha’s neck lightly. _Not that I have any idea what I’m doing._ He could see the tally marks along the side of her neck, innocuous things that bespoke countless successful assassinations. _Of which I was almost one, possibly._

“Crowe is correct,” Malcador said from the doorway, and Crowe looked up. He had rarely seen their patron outside of his throne, but here he was, hands hidden by the sleeves of his robes. Crowe’s eyes narrowed as the man entered the room, Susanne not far behind. “Let me have a look at her.”

Brant took Ashlynn’s arm and guided her away, gripping her gently, their size difference even more pronounced in close proximity to one another. Malcador eased himself down to kneel, and cupped Josepha’s cheek in one hand, examining her features. The slight motion within the depths of his hood indicated a nod. Malcador tugged his sleeve back and pressed his the tip of his first finger against Josepha’s forehead. Instantly, she stirred, and a moan escaped her lips.

“There, she wakes, with no harm done,” Malcador pronounced, and a moment later added, “how do you feel?”

“Unbelievably shitty,” Josepha muttered, and opened her eyes. She met Malcador’s gaze briefly, and Crowe frowned as he caught her flinch. Slowly, she sat up, and took a few deep breaths. Ashlynn shook herself free from Brant and ran to her, throwing herself down to embrace her tightly. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“I was _so worried,”_ Ashlynn said, clinging to her. “What happened? Do you feel sick? Did you faint?”

“I… yeah, Ash,” Josepha said, rubbing a hand along her back. “I just fainted. This sweater is probably too warm.”

“Then let’s get it off you,” Ashlynn said, and began to tug at the sweater. “Oh, no wonder, it’s so plush.”

“There, no harm was done,” Malcador said, smiling thinly. “When you’ve recovered, we’ll move onto the next stage of the plan. You’re an instrumental part of this project, Ms. Hexx. Do not forget that.”

Crowe did not, even a little, like the look on Josepha’s face before she looked away from him, and then frowned. “Why is Crowe wearing a towel?”

~ * ~

As it happened, infiltrating the cleaners turned out to be an incredibly easy task. Staffing issues stemming from an extremely high turnover rate meant that Josepha, along with Brant, could pose as new recruits and undergo the week long training course that brought them up to speed, feeding them procedures, rules, and scheduling as easily as drinking cold, sweetened tea.

Of course, that also meant showing up to work and being busy throughout much of the day to avoid suspicion, but sacrifices needed to be made for great rewards.

It also meant that Josepha was too tired to think about the incident in the lab, the sights that seemed to be fading from her memory _except_ when she closed her eyes.

 _It could be that Crowe’s paranoia just got to me,_ Josepha thought as she worked, mopping and cleaning on the manufacturing plant’s main floor. _It could be that nothing will happen and that life will continue here as it always has._

The main floor was busy. Machines ground away noisily, producing countless mold slabs of metal, primarily, but sometimes plastic or even glass. These molds were loaded into smaller machines to be dissected, and then, into further machines to be assembled, while humans, crucial to each step, refined them down, creating seamless pieces, some as utilitarian as standardized low-income housing, and some meant for other hives, or even other worlds in the nearby sector.

Just because every colony _had_ an STC system didn’t mean that a planet was capable of using it to its fullest capacity.

Josepha’s job was to keep the control areas clean as best she could and, when she became a veteran, she would get the enviable task of trying to clean the machines while they were running, since the manufacturing plant never stopped, the juddering of drills and grinding sound of cutters creating its own kind of industrial song.

She’d found at least six ways to breach their security, which was pretty good, all things considered.

Brant had established himself as being a merely competent cleaner, but excellent at hauling supplies back and forth, freeing up others to do the cleaning, and in doing so had made friends with nearly everyone in their crew, which was valuable in and of itself.

Now, all they needed to do was get in deeper, to dig into the heart of the manufacturing plant and find what they were looking for, but first, they needed to get off of the main floor.

Josepha bent, running a cloth over the panels, careful with the tiny metal shards as she gathered them into a small disposal bin. She had been warned repeatedly about the dangers of working in this place, one of the many reasons why the cleaning company had to cycle through employees so frequently.

With any luck, it wouldn’t even be suspicious when she quit.

The real problem was the way the labour was divided. Owing to the way the cleaners had to be protected, it was obvious when someone was working on the main floor. Josepha was wearing thick plastic goggles, as well as full face mask and hair net. Even those who worked in headscarves or other coverings wore ones that used special material to avoid leaving work with hair and scalp full of metallic splinters, and they wore sealed suits and gloves to see the work done, similar to but distinct from the ones worn by the factory workers themselves.

There were countless divisions too, as each section of the factory had its own teams to clean and maintain the machinery, spread out like a vast spiderweb across Hive Quintus, but none of those teams were allowed into the corporate sections.

Separated by thick glass and several sets of doors that functioned like airlocks, the offices were tended to by an entirely second team, these individuals wearing more standard uniforms. Josepha had seen them when they traveled from the cleaning company’s main office to the manufacturing plant in convoy, and then didn’t for the entirety of her shift, save for occasional flashes from the windows that looked down on them.

The STC system would be _in there,_ she knew, between Malcador’s instructions and her own instincts, but the question was: how do we get _in there_ from _out here?_

“Hey,” Crowe whispered in her ear, and Josepha was careful not to start at the sound. Since her spell -- fainting or whatever else it happened to be -- the thief had not spoken to her for reasons other than polite courtesy. “It’s me.”

“I know it’s you,” Josepha breathed, hoping the microphone would pick up her words past the din of the manufacturing plant. “What is it?”

“Any luck finding a way in?”

Josepha gritted her teeth under her mask. “No, they keep us too busy. Do you have a suggestion?”

“Yeah, look up.” Josepha looked upwards, and saw a figure clad in the office cleaner’s outfit press a hand against the window, while another, slighter figure walked past with a confident step. A moment later, they were cleaning again, working on the windows.

“I think I hate you,” Josepha muttered. “How did you get in there?”

“Someone called in sick,” Crowe replied. “We told your shift supervisor we were from another shift and needed hours, they were very grateful. We’ll give you a full report when we’re closer.”

“Great,” Josepha said as her back twinged. “Thanks.”

~ * ~

 _I don’t envy Josepha at all, cleaning sucks,_ Crowe thought as he worked at the windows. It was difficult to pick out where his comrade was and, had he not seen her look up when he’d called out to her, he might never have found her among the near-identical cleaners down below.

He could still hear the machines on this side of the wall as they worked away, but the sound was muffled enough not to be unnerving, and within the offices, the administrative staff likely couldn’t hear them at all.

Behind him, Ashlynn knocked on one of the office doors and was admitted. She shut the door behind her, preventing Crowe from hearing if the chemist was asked any questions.

“I have a plan,” she had told him earlier. “But you must get me into the office section. I can’t ask Josepha, she’s too busy on the main floor.”

“Of course,” Crowe said. “What’s your plan?”

“Well, the long version involves some complex chemical processes,” Ashlynn had said, tugging on a cleaning uniform a shade too big for her. “The short version is _science.”_

Crowe shook his head a little as he continued to work, wondering what made the insides of these windows so important that they needed to be cleaned. _It’s not like they’re doing much on_ this _side to protect us,_ he thought as he worked, methodical. _It’s all the side facing the main floor and_ those _windows aren’t my business._

He wrinkled his nose at the scent of the pungent chemicals, then moved on along the line, working while Ashlynn went into each office, emptying trash cans and replacing them, carrying the bags to a cart placed at the far end of the hall. The pair of them made their way down the halls, Crowe cleaning windows and sweeping while Ashlynn worked around people who spoke on phones or typed on computers, focused on their work and paying little attention to the cleaners.

 _Almost as good as being invisible,_ Crowe mused. While he worked, he noted the key cards that hung on thick, flat cords around the necks of most of the office employees, hanging like fruit on a tree, ripe and ready to be plucked. _Stealing_ one such card would probably be easy, though it would also be incredibly foolish and dangerous. Arrogance would get him caught, as surely as greed would, and he could afford neither.

Unease about the future had never quite left him, but at least now he could focus.

Their assigned circuit took them throughout the administration section, within visual range of the next place they needed to go: the server room containing the STC. As Crowe moved through his shift, he noted that no one approached it. Employees rarely ventured into the hallways past the offices, but the floors were clean.

_So either there’s some kind of weird anti-grime enchantment on those tiles, or someone else cleans them, someone outside ‘our’ company’s purview. Interesting._

“Crowe,” Ashlynn called out softly. “We’re done here. Any ideas?”

“I know that we’re not going to get access to that server room, so we need to find out who does,” Crowe replied, stretching a little. “How about you?”

“I have things mostly set up, we just need to secure our way in,” Ashlynn said. “Though I have an idea about that.”

“Tell me,” Crowe said, turning towards her. “I could brute force things, but I’d definitely be noticed.”

“Well,” the chemist said, sounding a little breathless. “Normally speaking, big companies have information technicians to take care of things for them. If that’s the case, we need to gain access to _them,_ and once we do, we’ll be able to gain access to the STC system.”

“Not bad,” Crowe said, and smiled. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“I’ve got some good instincts about secrets,” Ashlynn said, modestly. “And chemistry. And the secrets of chemistry.”

“So, we’re going to need to figure out who that person is, then,” Crowe said. “Once we get back to the apartment, we can dig in deeper to the personnel files, and--”

“There’s no need,” Ashlynn said, her leaf-green eyes bright. “I have plan. Like I said, _science.”_

“I don’t think you can answer _every_ question, spoken or otherwise, by saying ‘science’,” Crowe said, crossing his arms.

“I believe that I can.”

“Let’s just see it,” Crowe said. “I want to see what science has wrought.”

Ashlynn grinned at him, and opened her hand. Within the gloved palm sat a small, square device, not much bigger than a lighter. Crowe peered at it, curious and wondering. There was a raised portion of the device in the centre, though so slight that it could easily be missed.

With a thumb, she brushed the button and held it. At first, nothing happened, and Crowe took a moment to wash and rinse his cloths, though the smell didn’t fade. A few moments later, the door at the far end of the hall opened and a figure, carrying a tablet in one hand and looking harassed, hurried down the hallway towards one of the offices and opened it.

“I _told_ you to open a _ticket_ if there was a problem--”

“I know that, but it just started _smoking,”_ said the woman before the door closed behind him.

“...you know, maybe it’s better that I don’t know what you just did,” Crowe murmured. Ashlynn schooled her expression into looking extremely downcast.

“Oh I just got some special cleaner into the computer, but you’ve got the neutralizing agent. It would be a shame if anything got into the trash can, though, since I spilled a whole lot in there,” the chemist said, her expression wholly repentant. “Especially the information technician’s identification card. It would just… melt.”

 _That’s incredibly clever, and quick thinking,_ Crowe thought, a little awed. _I see why Hexx likes her so much._ He nodded, falsely thoughtful. “And they wouldn’t want you to take care of things, since you were so clumsy to start with.”

“Yes, it would be such a shame,” Ashlynn added, and passed him a small bottle. “I might even get fired for this, and at such a busy time.”

“At the very least, you’ll need supervision,” Crowe agreed. “From a steadier, more reliable worker.”

A few moments later, the door opened, and the exasperated man stared at both of them. “Alright, which one of you was cleaning up in here?”

“It… it was me, sir,” Ashlynn said, stepping forward, wringing her hands and, rather conveniently, concealing the tiny detonator. “I was just taking a break… is there something wrong?”

“There certainly is,” the technician said. “What were you using in there?”

“Just a… a chemical cleaner? For wiping down surfaces, what’s… what’s wrong?”

“It’s frying the whole damn system, I need you to deal with it,” the man said tersely. “Quickly.”

“Here, I can take care of it,” Crowe said, and made a show of retrieving the bottle Ashlynn had just given him from the cleaning cart. “Just show me where to spray.”

“In here, hurry,” the technician said, waving Crowe inside the office. The thief hastened behind him and casually slit the cord keeping the identification card around the technician’s neck. He stepped forward, retrieving the card as it slipped and removed the card, and dropped the cord into the trash can. The pungent smell of chemicals became a little sharper, though the smoking power cord snaking out from the computer was far more pressing. “As soon as you neutralize the cleaning agent, I can get a new power cord.”

Crowe nodded his understanding and sprayed the cord thoroughly. The sizzling portion began to foam, spilling out a mess onto the desk, and then the floor. The technician sighed heavily.

“Would you clean that up too? Urgh, I can’t believe this is the kind of thing people are washing with,” the technician muttered. “It seems so unsafe.”

Crowe hastened back to the cart to retrieve a cloth, and slipped Ashlynn the identification card before turning and hurrying back to the computer to wipe away the foam. Briefly, he felt it tingle along his senses, but then it was gone. When he was done, the technician leaned over, unplugging the computer and gathering the ruined cord.

“There, I should be able to find a spare back in the server room,” the technician said. “Won’t be more than a few minutes.”

“If there’s anything else you need, do let me--” Crowe pretended to do a double-take as he looked at the man. “Didn’t you have a…” He gestured to his neck. “Thing?”

“A thing?” the technician repeated. “What do you mean a thing?”

“You know, a thing,” Crowe said. “Around your neck.”

“A thing around my--” The technician looked down and blinked. “Where did it--”

Crowe pretended to look before peering into the garbage can. Half of the cord had melted away, and once again the thief was amazed at Ashlynn’s ingenuity. “Think I found it. Sort of.”

The technician peered into the trash can, his eyes widening after a moment. “Oh, fucking… _hell._ I’m going to have to get a whole new card. What is that stuff even made of?”

“I don’t know, sir, I’m just the cleaner,” Crowe said, his voice humble. “But I can tell our supervisor.”

“Be sure to tell your supervisor that your partner is a _menace,”_ the woman at the desk said, her expression creased with distress. “You wouldn’t believe how much work I just lost.”

“I will,” Crowe promised. “Should I just…”

“Yes, deal with the trash can before whatever’s in there eats through it and we have a disaster on our hands,” the technician said tersely. “Oh, this is going to completely fuck up my whole day, and I have a _meeting_ in the afternoon…”

Crowe nodded, and hurried out to the cart, and retrieved the neutralizing agent Ashlynn had placed there, then returned, expression screwed up into a mockery of seriousness.

“Lynn,” Crowe began, audible for the sake of those potentially listening in. “You _need_ to be more careful, this is the third time.”

“I’m _sorry,”_ Ashlynn replied, faking a sob to hide the fact she was trying not to laugh. Crowe sprayed neutralizing agent into the trash can. Immediately, it foamed up alarmingly.

“I have to clean this out,” Crowe said. “Otherwise the smell will be awful." Conveniently enough, neither employee paid much attention to Crowe, and he took himself out, shutting the door, trash can in one hand, empty bottle in the other. Ash trailed behind.

“Good job,” Crowe said in an undertone, and held his hand up. Ashlynn slapped her palm into his, and both made a muffled sound as their gloves met. “Now all we need to do is find the right opportunity to get inside that room to scout it out.”

“I have an idea for when we need this floor cleared out, but it would probably only work once,” Ashlynn said. “It might be better to use it when we know we’re going to pull off the heist.”

“The office workers won’t be here at night,” Crowe reminded her. “Better to use it now so we have a clean run at things. What do you need to do?”

“We’re going to want to clear out of here, or at the very least, put your mask on,” Ashlynn said, and passed him back the key card. Crowe snuck it into his sleeve, and nodded to her, securing his mask. Immediately he felt slightly stifled, but Ashlynn nodded encouragingly around her own mask.

Ashlynn drew out a canister from the cart, uncapped it and carefully sprayed along the windows. Immediately, the scent of the hallway changed. Crowe raised an eyebrow and she gestured to him to follow her, towards the place where, were they real cleaners, they would have stored their equipment.

“Now, all we have to do is wait,” she whispered. “Easy as causing an exothermic reaction.”

Crowe waited, carefully rinsing and disposing of the various chemicals they had used, including the trash can. _Returning it will give me a good excuse to still be here later,_ he mused. _I wonder how long this is going to take?_

It was nearly five minutes later that a door burst open, and Crowe peeked around a corner to see a worker stumble out of his office and puke noisily on the floor. A moment later, the man moaned, and retched again. One by one, the others working on the same floor emerged in a similar state of misery and wretchedness, including the technician, who was speaking into a phone while emptying his stomach onto the floor.

“Some kind of chemical leak… might have mixed in with the cleaning agents…” Crowe heard the man gasp out. “I think we need to evacuate the whole floor.”

“See,” Ashlynn said, her voice barely audible. “Their weak stomachs have no tolerance for the chemicals in the air, and we’ll be able to clean up the mess and then look into the server room. We can confirm our plan of action and our subsequent escape today, and be ready to move sooner rather than later. Simple, easy.”

“Devious,” Crowe added. “Clever. Are they going to be alright, though? This isn’t going to do any permanent damage?”

Ashlynn paused, considering. “Is that something that worries you?”

“Well, yes, obviously,” Crowe said. “On a personal, selfish level, because we would have inhaled some of those chemicals too, since we were working with them, but in a more general sense, we’re not trying to kill people here. We’re creating distractions and openings to delve into the deepest parts of this place. We can’t just kill people indiscriminately. Just because we’re using some kind of weird gas doesn’t mean we don’t have blood on our hands.”

Ashlynn regarded him curiously. “This is the kind of thing that bothers you, isn’t it? You worry about people even though you’re stealing from them. I heard about this, you were talking with Josie over the radio about it.”

Crowe flushed. “That doesn’t make me wrong, and I do my best to make sure no one is going to get seriously hurt while I’m on task. I don’t take things from people who have nothing to spare, including their lives.”

“You’re a kind man, I think,” Ashlynn said, and reached up to pat his cheek. “They will be well before very long. They will be sick for a little while, and then it will be over. They won’t suffer for long.”

“That’s a relief,” Crowe said with a smile. “It’s all I ask, really. People keep thinking I’m being absurd about this.”

“It’s endearing,” Ashlynn assured him. “Now, let’s get ready to move, it won’t be long now.”

Crowe nodded and waited, and within minutes, the security personnel arrived, masked and gloved, to assist the office workers from the administrative floor. As they helped the workers out, one of the security staff stopped to look at them.

“Could you clean up this mess, and do something about the chemical leak? This place is going to be a huge mess and we don’t want the whole thing to stink.” She lowered her voice a little. “I don’t want to see either of you two get into trouble, but I think there’s probably going to be a complaint filed. So you want to deal with this as fast as possible and then make yourself scarce.”

Crowe nodded his understanding. “Thanks, we very much appreciate the warning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DVD Commentary Notes on Tumblr: [Chapter 10](https://ivorytowerblr.tumblr.com/post/185389443041/wh20k-fic-court-of-stars-part-1062-epilogue)


	5. Chapter 11

Midnight.

The team had gathered, though Susanne was outside the building, poised and ready, watching out for anyone approaching the building. Malcador had remained at the apartment, waiting for their return, monitoring their radio transmissions, though even Crowe knew to keep quiet, lest they be picked up by security.

They had the means to enter the server room and Crowe had confirmed with his own eyes that what they were looking for was there, its glow blue and the room chill even through his uniform. The machinery still ran, even this late at night, though all the office staff had since cleared out.

No one had remembered enough of either of them to put in a complaint, so no one had ‘fired’ Crowe or Ashlynn when they’d been carted back to the cleaning company to punch out and be sent home.

“We’ll go onto the main floor,” Josepha had said as she handed out the uniforms for Crowe and Ashlynn. Crowe had slipped the outfit over his normal clothes, and tried not to bend the special equipment he had tucked into his clothing. Flexibility wasn’t a concern, not when it was a simple in-and-out once they got there. “Spread out throughout the floor, pick different machines. There will be a break after the first two hours, around midnight. They don’t like to leave machines unattended, but if we’re spread out and you’re fast, you can excuse yourself first, and we’ll leave together and head upstairs. We’ll have fifteen minutes before anyone wonders where we are.”

“That’s pretty tight,” Crowe had said. “Are you sure?”

“We need to be.”

Midnight had come slowly, while Crowe had worked to clean the machines, not overly concerned by the fact he was slow, one eye on the clock as his fellow cleaners did most of the work. This was the last time he’d be in this place, and they’d forget him soon enough, lost in the endless sea of faces.

He couldn’t see the others, but that did not matter, because what  _ did  _ matter was speaking up as soon as the time came, speaking over other voices, harder working people who burned with resentment that they would have to wait a little longer.

He fell into step with the others as they left, none acknowledging the others, though Crowe could recognize Brant’s frame, the breadth of his shoulders and how he walked. Josepha, however, could have been anyone, or still stuck inside. She was a chameleon, a shadow that transmuted itself as needed.

Once outside the main area, Josepha -- or so he assumed -- raised a hand, signalling for them to make their way outside to the van they had prepared beforehand.

“Take your uniform off outside and stash it, we’ll change inside the van and head upstairs,” Josepha whispered into his ear. “Crowe will lead the way.”

“Got it,” Crowe replied, voice equally soft. It was cold outside, the wind cutting deeply through his clothes as he paused in front of the van to shed his uniform, hearing the soft patter of metal fragments fall from him, and bundled everything together.

One by one, Ashlynn, Brant, and Josepha revealed their faces and stripped their uniforms off. Josepha pointed towards an alley, barely big enough to fit a person through, and Crowe brought his uniform bundle over and tucked it behind the garbage bins.

“Ashlynn’s chemicals have chosen our path for us,” Crowe said, nodding to the diminutive chemist. “So we’re going to have to go with Plan B.”

Above, the sky was cloudy and dark, the early signs of a storm.

“You need to move quickly,” Susanne warned. “The window is closing.”

“We’re on it,” Josepha replied, and tapped the key fob to unlock the van doors. “Phase two is starting now.”

Crowe nodded and walked, careful not to seem hurried, to the van and got in the back. Within, they had carefully hung up a second set of uniforms and Crowe put his on quickly, his movements practiced and sure. Within moments, he stepped out of the van with the others, and Josepha locked it again.

“This way,” Crowe said, and began to walk. He palmed his identification card before pressing it to the reader, and gestured the others to hurry through, starting with Josepha, while Brant and Ashlynn walked together, their lips hidden by their masks, though Crowe was struck by the impression that they were talking.  _ Makes sense, I wonder if we’ll see what Brant brings to these missions other than bulk. _

“Crowe, up here,” Josepha called to him over the radio. “You need to take the lead.”

“Will do,” he said, threading past the others and moving to scout the lead. “There’s a lot of security on the upper floors, but most of it was disabled with the chemical incident Ashlynn caused. We should be clear until we get past the security doors. Then we have to deal with the systems.”

“How did you deal with them the first time?” Josepha asked as they moved through the hall. Almost immediately, Crowe was struck by the chemical smell, the subtle difference in the acrid taste that lingered on his tongue, and how different it was from what was used downstairs. Sweeter, almost.

_ I really do hope that nothing she used winds up being fatal or damaging,  _ Crowe thought.  _ All this needs to be is a simple in-and-out.  _ “I pretended to be cleaning and took a look at things. Just cleaning doesn’t set it off, but I was scanned six ways from Rest Day while it was happening so I couldn’t touch anything sensitive.”

“Then we’ll need to deal with that,” Josepha said. “Show us what to do.”

Crowe nodded, and gestured them forward. Briefly, he glanced down, towards the floor, and frowned. He recalled cleaning the windows before, and they’d been transparent enough to see down, if not with absolute and perfect clarity. Now they were clouded, as though scratched or etched.

“Ashlynn, did you do something to the windows too?”

“There was something in the window cleaner,” she replied. “That’s why I could spray the windows and start a reaction. If they saw us, we’d be stopped. We can’t be stopped.”

“Yeah,” Crowe said, though something about the word choice made him shiver. “We can’t.”

“Then we can hurry and not worry about being caught,” Josepha said. “At least not for this part.”

“We won’t be,” Ashlynn assured her. “We all know what to do.”

Crowe nodded, and lengthened his stride, jogging through the office section and towards the far end of the hall. He stopped them within feet of the doors, and pointed at the cameras. “Those ones aren’t working, but this is the last safe place before we need to be careful. Ready?”

“You have five minutes before your break is over,” Susanne chimed in, over radio. “Hurry.”

“We’re hurrying,” Crowe promised, and approached the door. He slipped the technician’s identification card from his sleeve and swiped it. Immediately, the light turned red. “Fuck.”

“Didn’t it work before?” Brant asked. “Why isn’t it now?”

“That technician probably reported it destroyed, hang on.” Crowe pulled open his cleaner’s uniform and dug inside his pockets for a palm-sized device. “We just need to reprogram the reader so that it thinks we’re activating a new card.”

“How long will that take?” Josepha asked tensely. “We’re going to run out of time.”

“It takes less time if you don’t ask questions,” Crowe pointed out, and plugged his device’s cord into the side of the machine. Josepha took a step back and moved to look down the hall, watching out for anyone coming to investigate. “A minute, maybe two.”

“Fine, just hurry.” Crowe rolled his eyes and focused his attention on the screen. Brant moved off to watch in the other direction, though Ashlynn remained to watch his work as Crowe tapped the inputs to prompt the process along.

“It’s pretty boring to watch,” the thief pointed out. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s fascinating.” Ashlynn’s eyes gleamed brightly. “Besides, it’s not going to be any more interesting to watch the halls.”

“No, I can’t imagine it would be,” Crowe murmured. “You’re really into this. You must have big plans once this is over.”

“I certainly do,” the chemist said. “Big, important plans that I can’t afford to have delayed by failing here. I promise that we’ll succeed. Between all of us, we have the means and the ability to get this done.”

Crowe paused for a minute and smiled at her, though it was hidden under his mask. “Yeah, we definitely will.”  _ She’s a lot more driven now than she was before. This mission must really mean something to her. Maybe she doesn’t want to go back to mundane work. _

“Two minutes,” Susanne called out. “Are you in?”

“Why do people keep asking like I can somehow make the computer process faster?” Crowe grumbled. “No… no…” A light shifted from yellow to green. “Yes.”

Crowe pulled the card out of his device and then swiped it through the card reader. After a moment that seemed to take a fraction too long, the light gleamed green, and Crowe unplugged his device, took the card, and opened the door.

Almost immediately, he was greeted by a rush of cold air. In a flurry of motion the security cameras tracked to the door to record their likenesses, however much they could see, then returned to scanning the room.

“We need to disable them,” Crowe breathed out. “All of them at once. This is only the first section, where they load data from the STC’s short-term library. We need to get further in. I’ve been in the whole way.”

There was a crackle of noise in his radio, and then nothing.

“This room must have severe interference,” Josepha said. “It’s fine, we’ll be prepared for what comes. Crowe, how do we get rid of the cameras?”

“Bafflers,” Crowe said. “We have no way to hide that we’re here, so we’ll just have to disable a clear signal. It won’t turn off completely, but the image will just be fuzzy and lost to static, like how Ashlynn fogged the windows. Here.” He dug out a baffler, and pressed it into Josepha’s hand, hidden from the cameras. “Just plug it into the far camera, I’ll get this one.”

“On it.” Josepha moved to the far end of the room, swift, and Crowe glanced over briefly, the first movements of a predator like a knife cutting through a piece of fruit, and inserted the baffler into the camera on the far side. The light on the side went dead, and it stilled a moment later.

Crowe couldn’t quite move as swiftly, but he could surely strike with accuracy using the wall and the equipment to brace to get access to the input. After a moment, when his own camera was blinded, he jumped down and nodded to the others.

“How far in do we need to go?” Brant asked. “We’re out of time, right?”

“Yes, though it will take them time to figure out where we went to,” Crowe pointed out. “They could assume we’re just shirking, or taking too long on our break. We have two more rooms. The middle room is the technician’s work area, but he won’t be here this late. The far room will have the STC system in it, and then it’s a matter of extracting it.”

“You remember the plan for that, don’t you?” Josepha asked. “You and Ash are going to be the ones pulling it off.”

“Of course I do,” Crowe assured her. “We discussed it often enough.”

“Then let’s keep things moving.” Josepha nodded to him, and the four of them made their way to the next door. She gestured the others aside so Crowe could swipe the card again, and this time, the indicator went green without concern.

This area, in its own way, felt like one of the labs back at the apartment. There was a large desk in the middle, a semi-circle, surrounded by monitors, though almost all of them were off. Crowe peered up at them curiously, frowning.

“These were on when I was in here last time,” Crowe said. “Though that was during business hours.” He paused to examine one of the monitors. “This must be remote access to the other computers. This one is for security.”

“I can put in one of those bafflers if you need me to,” Brant said, and Crowe nodded, passing him the device. It was less of a stretch for Brant to do it, and Crowe slipped behind the desk, checking the computer.

“What are you doing?” Josepha asked, slipping her own baffler in. “We don’t have time.”

“I need to set up a maintenance cycle,” Crowe said. “It’ll give us a few minutes without the alarms so we can remove the STC system without alerting anyone. Our other choice is trying to snatch and replace it before anyone notices, and trust me, with the size of it, that’s not going to work.”

“It didn’t seem that big from the image,” Brant said. “How big can it be?”

“The system itself isn’t that much bigger than my hand,” Crowe said, and turned the computer on, wincing as the monitor’s illumination filled the mostly darkened room. It was bright against his skin, and the warped, reflected light made his hands look all the more pale. “But it’s sitting inside a casing that extracts information, which is about as big as my head, and  _ that  _ is locked within the cooling system. We only saw the most basic part of it in the projection.”

“Then we don’t really have another choice,” Ashlynn said softly. “Crowe is the expert, this is what he’s good at.”

“Thanks,” Crowe said. Almost immediately, he ran into the password screen, and opened his coat, taking out a tiny hard drive containing a potent password cracker. He inserted it into one of the side ports on the tower and waited.

Three minutes passed, and then he was in, watching the too-cheerful loading screen before settling on the desktop. He began to work rapidly, finding his way inside the system with ease.

[Are you sure you want to run a maintenance cycle? Security will be deactivated for several minutes during this process.]

_ Yes,  _ Crowe thought, tapping the button.  _ I definitely am. _

~ * ~

“This is it,” Crowe said, and from over his shoulder, Josepha watched as the door separating them from their prize slid open. She tried to remain cool, detached from the situation; the thief didn’t bother, he was all but vibrating with excitement before stepping inside.

Immediately, she felt cold, chilled by the mechanisms keeping the massive server towers from overheating. The STC system sat surrounded by library banks that contained the thousands of patterns used by the machinery downstairs, and red lights flickered from within recessed depths.

“What now?” Josepha asked quietly, awed. She shook her head to clear it. “We need to hurry, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Crowe said, and moved towards it. “I need to remove the different casings, outside going in.”

“Do you need help with it?” Josepha asked, advancing a step, then two, until she was standing just opposite him. He met her gaze over the dim illumination, and smiled.

“We’ll need to work together, carefully,” Crowe said. “We also have to be fast, if we don’t hurry, when we take the primary processor out, all the alarms will go off.”

“Show me what to do,” Josepha said, and Crowe nodded to her.

“First stage, we lift this part up, here.” Crowe indicated to the outermost shell, and worked clever, dexterous fingers to unfasten the clips. Josepha pressed her fingers to the casing and when Crowe nodded, she lifted it up, setting it aside.

As it became visible, Josepha noted the shape of the next casing; it was something of a flattened oval, with lights illuminating metal ridges and rubber connectors. It was divided into hemispheres, and peering down, she could see the aforementioned plate containing the STC system.

_ It looks… like a brain,  _ Josepha mused, even as Crowe ran his fingers along it, searching for catches.

“Take right,” Crowe said. “I’ll take left.”

“My right or yours?” Josepha murmured. Crowe blinked at her, and then made a face at himself.

“Yours,” he said. “Sorry. We pull on three. One… two…”

“Three,” Josepha finished and tugged the right half away, just as Crowe pulled at the left, and both set the halves aside. In the very middle sat the core of the system, the width of three fingers and as long as Josepha’s hand. Crowe met her gaze.

“On three again, you need to pull it out, and I’m going to slip in a blank. Everything will be fine until they actually need to read something from it.” Josepha nodded to him, her fingers poised over the STC system. “One… two… three!”

Josepha yanked hard and the mostly-flat piece of metal came out easily. Crowe immediately pushed the copy into it, and watched it, as though waiting for disaster to strike. After a moment, there was nothing, and he nodded. Together, they pressed the halves of the inner casing back around it, and then, the second on top.

“We did it,” Crowe said with a smile. “Now, all we have to do is--”

“Hand over the STC system and everything will be fine.” Josepha turned her attention towards Ashlynn who stood, very casually, near the doorway, a gun the size of her palm in her hand, pointed towards Crowe. “You really did a great job. Both of you did. You did most of the heavy lifting. It was very impressive to watch.”

“Ash…” Josepha began. “What is this?”

“This is a robbery, Josie,” Ashlynn said calmly. “We’re robbing you.”

“Two points, real fast,” Crowe said. “One, there’s one of you and three of us. Two--”

“Your math’s a little wrong, bud,” Brant said and brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles, the pops echoing through the room. “It’s two and two, and I’d say we’re at a greater advantage.”

“Why?” Josepha whispered. A weight settled over her heart, as though hands were clawing at it, dragging it down. “Is it money?”

“It’s not money,” Ashlynn said, and Brant took a step forward. “Truthfully, I don’t even need it. There’s so much you don’t know, Josie. So many things you can’t have imagined or even dreamed. I knew what Lord Malcador’s objective was before you did, before anyone did. I knew because I was told by someone who knows everything. Every secret. Every lie spoken in the dark.”

“Is that what we were?” Josepha asked, moving towards Ashlynn, her voice cracking. “A lie told in the dark?”

Ashlynn’s eyes brightened, catching the light, and they seemed a darker green, the green of algae-choked ponds. “Oh, lover, no. I really did enjoy the time we had together, and if there had been time to initiate you, we could be doing this together, but… there wasn’t.”

“Come on, Crowe, hand it over,” Brant said. “There’s no reason to make things complicated.”

“I think you underestimate us,” Crowe said as Josepha swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I think you’re seriously misjudging someone brought in as an assassin.”

“Oh, please,” Brant said. “What’s she going to do? Stand there bleeding to death from a broken heart?”

Anger flickered through her, burning away despair.  _ Crowe’s right, the job has always come first, and this is just another job. It’s always been just another job. _

“The answer is no,” Crowe said. “It’s always no. We’re getting out of here, together, and you can’t stop us.”

“Don’t underestimate me, either,” Ashlynn hissed, all of the gentleness and wonder gone from her voice. The difference was stark, though Josepha was grateful, in a way. It made the next part easier.

Josepha rushed at her, palm extended to slam into her shoulder. Ashlynn’s eyes went wide with surprise as her finger squeezed. Two shots spanged from the walls, and one ricocheted into one of the panels, destroying it.

A moment later, an alarm began to wail.

_ That could either be very good or very bad,  _ Josepha thought.  _ Maybe both.  _ “Crowe!”

The thief vaulted over the STC housing and hit the ground running, racing towards the door. Josepha took one last, long look at Ashlynn before following, dodging around the work station.

_ Later,  _ Josepha thought grimly.  _ I’ll fall apart later. _

“All we have to do is get outside!” Crowe called to her as they ran. They hit the second door and Josepha grabbed for the handle. “Once we get to the van, we can blow this place and leave.”

“Don’t think you’re going to get away!” Ashlynn cried. “Brant, after them!”

Josepha looked over her shoulder and swore, eyes widening. The thing that answered was not so much a person as it was flesh draped over a skeletal frame, bulging with muscle. Brant had always been strong, she worked beside him for weeks as they’d worked on this plan, and he’d been mild-mannered then, calm.

Now, in the half-darkness, his eyes had been swallowed by the void. He took a vicious swing at Josepha and she ducked, barely, feeling the breeze that came with it. Brant was all but on top of her, and it was impossible to get distance.

Fortunately, as an assassin, distance wasn’t always something she needed.

“Get the door open,” Josepha called out, and flicked her wrists. It had been dangerous to bring her knives with her, a risk of getting caught, but as they settled into her hands, she felt a certain sense of peace fall over her. “I can deal with him.”

She met Brant’s crazed eyes, taking in his near-blank expression. She kicked out, aiming for his jaw. Josepha heard the blow impact against flesh and cloth, but it didn’t faze him. Not even a little.

“Are… are you sure about that?” Ashlynn said, leaning against the door frame behind her. Josepha ducked the incoming blow, and saw her right arm hanging uselessly. “Didn’t you pay attention? He  _ helps  _ me with my  _ experiments.  _ He can become greater than human, greater than anyone… for a price.”

“Keep her talking,” Crowe murmured. “And watch out.”

“No, I was planning on letting him hit me,” Josepha said, and moved low, using the desk island for cover. Brant swung hard, and smashed the computer monitor to the ground, scattering fragments of glass and plastic onto the floor. “Maybe hurry.”

“We are all full of chemicals,” Ashlynn continued. “Neurotransmitters, energy reactions, the acids produced by our stomachs and our muscles. When we master chemistry, we master every part of the human body.”

“Is he even human anymore?” Josepha snapped. “He looks like a monster to me.”

“More of a monster than someone who tattoos all of the lives she’s taken onto her own skin?” The assassin started, froze, and Brant’s blow came at her too fast. Something snapped as his fist connected with her ribcage and Josepha screamed, crashing into the far wall. “If you pray, he will hear you. Even now, even here.”

“P-pray…” Josepha coughed out. “You’re religious?”

“Yes…” Ashlynn said, taking a step forward, then another. “There must always be something to fill the void within us, the deep recesses of our hearts, and He hears us. He loves us. He takes care of us when we are in need.”

“He takes advantage of the crazy and the broken, apparently,” Josepha hissed. “Because you’re both. Fuck me for not seeing it.”

Flash.

Her hands were coated with blood, and she was clad in a blue so dark it was black. As dark as midnight.

_ This isn’t where you die,  _ she heard, the voice both unfamiliar and so well known to her that she felt it vibrate against her soul. It was a man’s voice but it was  _ her  _ voice too.  _ Live. _

Flash.

_ Live,  _ Josepha told herself and surged up. Pain arced up her side, but it was better than numbness, better than stillness. Brant’s fist impacted on the wall where she’d been and he howled, incoherent.

“This way!” Crowe called. “Hurry!”

Josepha moved past Brant, and ran through the door. Crowe slammed it behind them, and was greeted by the sound of louder alarms.

“Good job,” Josepha muttered. “Now we just have to get the rest of the way out.”

“If they’re locked behind the doors, we’ll have some time,” Crowe said, and nodded to her. “Come on, lean on me.”

“I’m fine,” Josepha said. “We need to get out of here before everyone  _ else  _ comes after us.”

Crowe looked her over and she looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“You  _ could  _ work on doors faster, yes,” Josepha said as she started to walk. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been hurt during assassinations before -- sometimes, bodyguards showed up unexpectedly, or ledges were more slippery than she’d hoped -- but every step jarred something inside her.

“I meant about--”

“I knew who you meant,” Josepha snapped. “Leave it be, don’t poke the wound. Are we still on plan?”

“Who even knows?” Crowe said, and walked down the hall, moving a few paces ahead of her and then turning back. “They’re probably evacuating everyone, and then the security teams will sweep through to find us.”

“We might be able to slip out,” Josepha pointed out. “If we look more like floor maintenance crews than office sweepers. Which means no limping.”

“Who’s limping?” Crowe asked. “Not me, and definitely not you.”

“Definitely not me,” Josepha agreed as they turned the corner, and for the second time that evening, found a gun pointed at her. She held her hands up quickly, unaided by the knives. “Fuck.”

“Freeze,” said the security guard in front of her. “Both of you, you’re coming with me. Don’t you move.”

Josepha opened her mouth, and a foul scent struck her nostrils, stinging her and provoking a coughing fit that seared pain along her side. The gun wavered briefly.

“Do you smell that?” Crowe asked the security guard. “I think there’s some kind of chemical spill.”

“Didn’t…” Josepha retched a little, and moaned. “Didn’t Ash use something earlier?”

“This is different, I think,” Crowe said. “This is--”

“Down!” Josepha screamed, grabbing for Crowe’s arm and pulled him to the floor. A moment later, there was an explosion, followed by a surge of terrible smell. The upper windows shattered, spilling fouled, tainted glass onto the stilled machines below. Clouds of smoke billowed from the offices, their doors melting away. The security guard, moaning, stumbled blind, even as Josepha pulled Crowe towards the broken windows, risking glass shards for a trace of clean air.

Something seemed to roll in the filthy smoke, formless but defined, and it was familiar to Josepha; a trio of lights, swirling around each other, the false hope of oncoming traffic lights through fog.

It reminded her, in a way, of Ashlynn’s tattoo.

“We need to get outside,” Crowe said. “It’s… we can’t save that man, not if Ashlynn decided he needs to die. We have to escape with the STC system. It’s all we have left.”

_ Live,  _ Josepha reminded herself, and nodded. Slowly, carefully, with each agonizing movement, they made their way through the hallway. They were almost there, almost free, when she heard something from behind them, cutting through the smoke like a blade: laughter.

High, crazed, and very familiar, the sound of Ashlynn’s voice crawled over Josepha’s senses as Brant tore through the hallway, and threw the dying security guard aside like so much detritus. Josepha could see him, barely, but his face had twisted as chemicals fought each other.

Brant was dying.

_ We’re all dying if something can’t be done,  _ Josepha thought and used the wall to bring herself upright. “Go,” she managed. “You’re the only one who needs to escape. Run.”

“I can’t leave--”

“Don’t be a stupid asshole,” Josepha spat. “You can. You never wanted to do this, not when you saw the cost, and now it’s going to be so much worse.  _ Go.” _

“You can’t die here,” Crowe said, his voice anguished. “Promise me.”

“Sure,” Josepha said, and took a step forward. “I can promise you anything.”

Crowe gave her one last look, and then began to crawl again. Josepha didn’t watch him, didn’t hope for anything. Hope was the purview of heroes, of people who did their best despite terrible circumstances.

She was no hero. She was a killer, and now she needed to get her hands dirty.

Josepha tore off the protective gear she wore, and felt the smoke sting her skin.  _ I wonder if this mask will help me? If it even matters, if I should even care. _

Brant’s form came at her through the smoke, thinner now with the broken windows, and she threw her knife at him. He moved, faster than she’d thought possible, and it cut across the side of his head. Unlike the blood in her dreams, what pumped from him wasn’t red, it was blackish, sludgey.

Nothing natural, nothing  _ right. _

Nothing human.

_ I can’t fight him hand to hand,  _ Josepha thought grimly.  _ Range is hard, I won’t be able to overpower him or tire him out. He  _ might  _ die if I keep him distracted long enough, but then Ashlynn will show up and we’ll both be dead. I need to live. _

Brant swung at her, and she dodged, though it was a near thing. She couldn’t let him hit her again. If her ribs were only cracked, breaking them would surely kill her. Being crippled would only bring her death faster than she cared to experience it. Every move, every option, was a bad one. Each of Brant’s movements was huge, exaggerated, meant to overpower a smaller opponent, and with a man like Brant Eversor,  _ every  _ person he fought would be smaller.

_ It would take some kind of superman to deal with him, and I’m definitely not one,  _ Josepha thought.  _ I’m precision targeting, opportunistic, a knife in the dark, a-- _

The thought hit her suddenly, and she had to sway painfully to avoid Brant as he came at her. There  _ was  _ hope, one hope, that she could deal with him. Josepha put her back towards the broken windows. It was clearer by the window as the smoke was being drawn towards the manufacturing plant’s massive ceiling fans, droning on as though the world had not shattered and been put back together wrong.

Brant leered at her as he came in, believing her trapped. His face had become an ugly dark red, and his veins stood out under his skin. He smelled of the chemicals that permeated everything, and something under it, something like rust, like spilled blood. He swung hard and Josepha ducked, and rammed her elbow into his back.

Off-balance, Brant tumbled through the broken window and fell a long, long way to the factory floor.

_ I… I did it,  _ Josepha said, and sank down. She laughed and it tasted like ash, like blood, like chemicals and death.  _ You can’t brute force gravity. _

Through the clearing smoke, Josepha saw Ashlynn walk through the hallway towards the exit, entirely unaffected by the deaths she had caused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DVD Commentary Notes on Tumblr: [Chapter 11](https://ivorytowerblr.tumblr.com/post/185536463321/wh20k-fic-court-of-stars-part-1162-epilogue)


	6. Chapter 12

The wave of nausea hit him hard, and it was all Crowe could do to not just collapse then and there. His head swam and he clung to the walls. Almost. He was almost out, almost free. If he could avoid puking the entirety of his guts out, he would be just fine.

The possibility of never seeing Josepha again burned inside him, and he closed his eyes on tears.

_ It’s not… none of this should have happened. It was just a job, just a final task to complete. Did Malcador know this would happen? Did he care? Is there even anywhere to go back to? _

Crowe forced himself forward, his vision blurred. His fingers scrabbled at the walls, doing his best to find support from them. He had made it down the stairs, and this was the final, narrow hallway between himself and the outdoors.

The smoke was fainter here, between the fans and the distance, but it lingered in his eyes and on his skin.

_ I should have seen it, all of the things she did,  _ Crowe thought bitterly.  _ Those chemicals she sprayed everywhere, how prepared she was to deal with them. I should have known better. _

“Here now, little bird,” Ashlynn called, and Crowe froze briefly. “There’s no need to fly away. Just give me what I want and then it will be over.”

“I notice,” he croaked, as he started to move again, “that at no point do you promise not to kill me.”

“You’ll live,” Ashlynn said. “Probably. You can beg for your life. He’ll hear you. He always hears those who need him.”

“You’re crazy,” Crowe said. “Out of your fucking mind.”

“I’m the best,” Ashlynn said, her voice gentle, too-calm after her cackling laughter and hostile anger. “Too good to spend my life doing something any fool with the ability to program a computer and read measurements could do. I was passed over for promotions time and again. They had no idea what I was capable of.”

“Murder?” Crowe suggested. “Betrayal?”

“Genius!” Ashlynn cried. “Who else created chemicals that change a body’s metabolism to be stronger, faster, and better than a normal human? Who else knows how to mix things together to create a super soldier without mercy or restraint? Who else could poison so many people in so many ways?”

“I mean it, you’re crazy,” Crowe said. “Did Brant know what you were going to do to him? Did Malcador?”

“Brant knew,” Ashlynn said, and he could practically feel her crawling up his back, like a thousand spiders. “He wanted it. He wanted to become strong, stronger than any other. I gave that to him and in return, he gave his life to me, and to Him.”

“Malcador?” Crowe said. He could see the door, and his vision was beginning to clear. “Did he know?”

“Malcador,” she hissed, switching from gentle to poisonous in a heartbeat, “knows nothing. He plays with his tarot cards and speaks of a future war but he has no idea. No idea what he stands against. If he knew, that old man would  _ weep.  _ He would fall on his knees and  _ beg  _ Nurgle for His love and forgiveness.”

_ Nurgle.  _ The name swept through Crowe in a wave, halted him, made him throw up all over again. Part of him wanted to weep, while another wanted to tear at his skin.  _ It’s just the air. Once I get outside it will all be free. _

“Ash…” Crowe started out of his thoughts, and felt the chemist turn. Josepha’s steps were heavy as she went down the stairs. “Stop this. Stop all of this. Gods aren’t real. There is no one to forgive us but each other. We can end this, you and I. Brant is dead. He’s gone.”

“You’re right,” Ashlynn said. “We can.”

Crowe lunged forward, reaching for the door and flinging it open. He was struck by a burst of cold air, and it made his eyes water all over again. He moved forward anyway.

“You’re not getting away!” Ashlynn screamed, and turned away from Josepha, starting to run. Crowe stumbled, and it was still so very dark, so cold, the wind like daggers.

“Ash!” Josepha cried out. “Don’t!”

Crowe turned, his vision all too clear as Ashlynn came at him. Her arm had, impossibly, restored itself, and her eyes glowed in the darkness sickly, phosphorescent. She aimed her gun at him, too close to dodge, and he was too easy a target to miss.

A gunshot split the night air and red bloomed, exploding outwards as the shot struck Ashlynn square in the heart and she fell onto the street, her hand opening and letting her own gun fall.

[Evacuate the area immediately,] Susanne came over the radio, her voice crisp and real. More real than Josepha sinking down to draw Ashlynn into her lap, to touch her red-soaked hair. [More security is coming and there’s only so much we can do to divert them. Did you complete your objective?]

Crowe thought of broken monitors and shattered glass. He thought of the dying security guard and Brant’s terrible, distorted face. He thought of Ashlynn’s cackling madness and Josepha’s broken heart.

“Yeah,” he said, tired. “We did.”

~ * ~

The penthouse apartment felt emptier, more echoing than it had when they’d left. Crowe sat on one of the plush couches as a nurse monitored his heart beat. He’d been given oxygen to breathe, and it felt strange and sweet, like a kind of dessert.

“You need to finish this canister,” the woman said, her voice cool and professional. “To avoid further damage to your lungs.”

“So I guess those masks weren’t really effective?” Crowe guessed, his voice distorted by the mask cupping his mouth and nose. “Would have been nice to know sooner.”

“These chemicals were particularly corrosive and harmful,” the nurse rebuked him. “Far outside the standard to be expected. Just stay calm and all will be well.”

Near him, Josepha was laying on the ground as a pair of EMTs treated her ribs. Hand scanners had confirmed a crack, not a break, and they had administered painkillers, along with some bandaging to make sure they didn’t shift too much.

“It’s hard to be calm,” Josepha said, around her own oxygen mask. “When were you going to tell us what was going on?”

“It isn’t my place to say,” Susanne said from where she sat stiffly across from them. The sniper kept her gun with her, her fingers working rapidly as she cleaned and disassembled it, like a nervous habit, or a well-practiced one. “Lord Malcador will be the one to debrief you.”

“Fuck Malcador, actually,” Crowe muttered. “I’m done with puppet masters.”

“Unfortunately, they are not yet done with you,” said Hershel Malcador, appearing out of the darkness like a shade. “Josepha Hexx, Blakk Crowe. Will you give me the device?”

Crowe glared up at him, and kept his mouth shut.

“Did you know?” Josepha asked. “Did you know what was going to happen? That she was going to try to kill all of us?”

“I was aware of the possibility,” Malcador said, and gestured to the medical staff. “Will they live?”

“Of course, Lord Malcador,” one of the EMTs said. The man looked up, and while Crowe had noted that his hair was white, he was struck by how young he looked, how flawless his red-brown skin was all things considered. “Do you want us to take those samples now?”

“Samples?” Crowe asked. “Why?”

“Blood tests to make sure there are no lingering problems,” Malcador said smoothly. “Don’t concern yourselves. You had questions, didn’t you?”

“Starting with, what the fuck does ‘aware of the possibility’ mean, anyway?” Josepha said. Crowe could see anguish and anger behind her mask. “You said it would all go undetected. The factory is crawling with police.”

“They will assume a terrorist is responsible, a suicide bomber gone wrong,” Malcador said lightly. “So it is helpful that they have a body to find. Ashlynn Venen did her best to conceal her true loyalties, but it is difficult to hide an affiliation such as hers.”

“To… to  _ Nurgle,”  _ Crowe said, and coughed hard a moment later. It made his ribs ache and his lungs burn. The nurse quickly checked his oxygen levels. “What… what  _ is  _ it anyway?”

“A false god,” Malcador replied, a shade too quickly. “An idol worshiped by those who are incapable of facing the real. Ashlynn’s fanaticism led her to extremes, which is why such is so dangerous.”

“She said I would have been initiated, if there had been time,” Josepha said. “Initiated into what? How much time?”

“Into the cult she was part of,” Malcador said. “As for how much time… I don’t know. You grew close very swiftly. That much I had not expected, not entirely.”

“So you don’t know everything,” Crowe said, and let the nurse take his arm and ease it out of his sleeve. She swabbed his skin and the rubbing alcohol felt cool against his skin, a moment before the needle pierced his vein and he sat still, waiting. “What about Brant?”

“She likely made contact with him first, or he was part of the same cult and they joined my team separately,” Malcador said. “In a way, it was better to accept them rather than rejecting them. I knew where the danger was.”

_ “We  _ didn’t, though,” Crowe said. “We had no idea until it was almost too late. If we’d failed, if we’d  _ died--” _

“I had faith that you would live,” Malcador said. “And, at worse, Susanne was equipped to take them both down. A messy, unfortunate conclusion to this operation, but not unheard of.”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Josepha breathed out. “Unbelievable.”

“Perhaps, in the future, you’ll have the foresight to avoid such situations, Josepha Hexx,” Malcador said dryly. “Will you give me the STC system? Will you allow your pain and suffering to have been in vain?”

“I think trying to pull out sunk costs at a time like this is pretty bullshit,” Crowe said. “Did you intend to pay us?”

“Of course,” Malcador said. “It would be foolish to break such a promise. Once I have the device, and you’re finished being treated, you will both have your money.”

“Is the war real?” Josepha asked. “Was any of what you told us true?”

“It was all true,” Malcador said, his voice quiet, solemn. “War  _ is  _ coming, though you will not see it. I’m not threatening you, it’s simply another truth. You won’t see the war you will help win.”

“Will it be worth it?” Crowe asked softly. “Will any of it be worth it?”

Malcador took a step towards him, holding his hand out. Crowe hesitated, and then set the device in his hand. Their patron held it up to the light, tilting it slightly, and nodded. “It will be. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but it will be.”

Josepha sighed, the sound pained, hurt. Heartbroken.

“Get some rest,” Malcador urged. “You may stay here as long as you need to.”

“Mask off,” the nurse said to Crowe as Malcador turned and walked away. Susanne clicked the last pieces of her gun into place and followed him, obedient as always. “I need to swab your cheek.”

Crowe nodded and let her remove the mask. Once the samples were taken, the EMTs helped Josepha stand. The thief followed a moment after, and offered Josepha his shoulder. She stared at him a moment and then took it with a sigh.

“Come on,” Crowe said gently. “Let’s get you to your room to rest.”

“I’ve never been inside it,” Josepha said after a long moment. “Not once, I… I stayed with Ashlynn, we spent every night together. Now she’s gone. Not just gone, she tried to kill me. I almost wish she had.”

“No,” Crowe said. “I’m glad you lived, that someone will understand exactly how I feel about this whole stupid mess.” He considered. “Come with me, instead. You don’t have to sleep alone tonight, either.”

Josepha glanced at him sharply, and then nodded a little. Crowe led her to his own room, nestled between Brant and Ashlynn’s rooms and opened the door. He flicked on the lights. He’d added little to the room in the time he’d spent here, and most of it had been taken from his lab, moved from one spot to the other so that he could fiddle with locks or do some reading while he tried to fall asleep.

...there were also things of a slightly more personal nature, but Josepha didn’t need to see those.

“Sit down,” he said, and eased her down to sit on the edge of his bed. “You’re going to do those breathing exercises before you go to sleep, right?”

“Yes, Mother,” Josepha said, rolling her eyes a little, and there was strength in her voice. Crowe smiled to hear it. “I’m going to need a hand.”

“Yeah, I know,” Crowe said, and began to undress, though he had shed his outer layers as soon as they’d been taken inside, whisked up to the penthouse to be treated. His boots had been abandoned by the couch, and his coat draped over a chair. There was still more, though, and he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers, pushing them down and kicking them aside, then pulled off his shirt.

“Where are you going with this?” Josepha asked, eyeing him. Crowe held up his hands.

“Exactly that far, I don’t usually sleep with clothes on, but I’ll make an exception.” Crowe knelt down and unbuckled Josepha’s boots, the assassin having been unable to bend without crying out in pain earlier. He tugged them off one at a time and set them aside.

“I suppose neither of us want to have to deal with a bed full of knives, do we?” Josepha muttered, and undid her own pants, half-rising to slip them over her hips and pushed them towards her knees. Crowe pulled them the rest of the way off, looking up when she hissed in pain. “It’s fine, keep going.”

“How do you want to handle your shirt?” Crowe asked. Josepha looked at him sharply, and sighed.

“Help me with it, I should get my bra off at least, and then I’ll put it back on.”

“Got it,” Crowe said, and sat on the bed. Carefully, he lifted her shirt up, and eased her arms out of the sleeves. He unfastened her bra and assisted her in slipping it from her shoulders, then she put the shirt back on.

For a time, Josepha just sat there, breathing. Crowe stood back up again and waited.

“It’ll be easier if I figure out how to lay down first,” Josepha said after a moment. “Since I don’t want anything resting on my side. Especially not myself.”

“Right,” Crowe said. “Of course.”

He waited, and after a moment, she lay back, using her heels to push herself into place, resting on her back, her head against one of the pillows. Crowe turned away, flipping off the lights before climbing into bed, moving to lay on his side, facing her in the darkness. He could feel her look at him, curious.

“What’s this about?”

“Well, it seems rude to show you my butt while we sleep, which leaves facing this way,” Crowe said, and reached out a hand, resting it against hers. “And, I’m here to listen, if you want to talk.”

“Not right now,” Josepha replied. Her hand closed over his, and laced their fingers together. “Soon, probably, but right now I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“Yeah, well… you won’t need to do it alone,” Crowe said. “I’ll be here.”

~ * ~

“Are you ready?” Crowe’s hair fluttered in the chill wind, feathered and ornamented by snowflakes as he looked down from the rooftop. It was a nearly midnight, and there was a cold that seeped into all but the most well-protected of bones.

Josepha was crouched next to him, her eyes closed. He had a hand on her elbow, steadying her. It had happened more and more often during the three years since the first time they had found her on the ground of her lab, the incidents happening more and more frequently, though she’d never fainted again. Not entirely.

There were few people on the streets so late. The work shifts that would end in the early hours of the morning were in full swing, and those that did not had little desire to be outside when it was so cold. The other factories were busier than ever, more and more work shipped to them as the primary manufacturing plant, once the heart and soul of Hive Quintus, was dying by inches each month, each year.

_ Or perhaps it’s the people who are dying,  _ Josepha thought to herself.  _ Perhaps we killed them. _

When they’d awoken the next morning -- late, well past noon -- the penthouse apartment had been empty. There was no sign of Malcador, nor Susanne. The money had been there, as promised, as untraceable as it was real, but their patron and their final team member had been gone, disappeared without warning.

They’d investigated every room and found that the ones they hadn’t been occupied were mostly empty.

There was still furniture, but no projector. There was food, and appliances, but all of the special equipment they’d been given had been taken. It was gone, like it had never existed at all. No poisons, no special safes to practice picking locks, no lab.

All that remained was a man, a woman, and an obscenely expensive yet poorly designed penthouse apartment.

Once their search had come to nothing, they had needed to decide what to do. To… talk. In the end, they’d both retrieved their things from their old homes and brought them here. It wasn’t the luxurious state of affairs they’d had before, but it wasn’t living in a bolt hole either.

They had agreed to remodel the apartment, clearing away the specialist rooms and the weird cluster of rooms in the centre, instead building a more normal apartment, though some of it had been given over to a private gym, a library, a computer room, and of course, bedrooms.

They’d never stopped sleeping in the same bed. Sometimes, one of them would suggest it, and the other would agree, but long after ribs had healed and there was nothing left to remind Josepha of Ashlynn, or Brant, she would find her way into Crowe’s bed and curl into him, fingers intertwined. After a year, they’d stopped trying, and learned to live with cold toes and warm hands, gentle voices and secrets whispered in the dark.

The news reports remained conspicuously quiet about the break in at the main manufacturing plant. There had been some damage done; no one would lose their jobs, but the employees would be screened. Some had even claimed, though without direct proof, an employee or former employee had been responsible.

They were right, after a fashion.

Josepha and Crowe had done what they could. There was no returning what had been taken, no copies made. Confession was possible, but in the end, they said nothing.

Instead, they had chosen to treat the symptoms. Within the last half-year, a company had opened a mine in the mountains a day’s drive outside of the city. There was metal, they said, harder than anything they’d ever found and plentiful. This was the revival the city hoped for, if they could build the equipment to retrieve it.

There would be mining equipment in the databanks, though perhaps not as safe nor as efficient as they hoped.

“Josepha?” Crowe asked again, and she looked to him, finding him exactly how she’d imagined. She leaned over to him, and with one hand, tilted his chin so that their gazes met. He shuffled forward, and touched his forehead to hers.

He was cold. They were both cold, but together, they could be warm.

“I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Crowe raised his head and nodded to her. She returned the gesture, and then jumped down. The harness secured around her legs and waist pulled her up after two floors of drop, and then she began to lower herself down the rest of the way, her pace rapid, though cautious. It would be foolish to break a leg doing something they’d both done countless times before.

When she reached ground level, she signaled to him and Crowe began his own descent. Their job was a simple one: someone had started smuggling in goods into the city, and they had presented themselves, an assassin and a master thief, as complex solutions to messy problems.

_ It’s the least we can do, all things considered,  _ she thought as she helped Crowe down, patting him briefly to assure herself that he was whole.

He was as good at this as she was -- better, even -- but she liked to be sure. The last few years had instilled in her with a paranoia that had once been entirely alien. Ashlynn’s betrayal had done that to her and she would not, would never, forget.

Crowe nodded to her, reassuring before he fixed his scarf up around his mouth and nose, and she did the same. Hooded and scarved, protected from the snow and cold, they set out, wary.

“We have this, no problem,” Crowe said, his voice muffled. “They’re no match for us.”

“Please,” Josepha replied, though she smiled. “You’re going to get us into trouble one of these days.”

“I mean it, nothing can go wrong.”

Darkness, profound and somehow deeply polluted, stole over them and Josepha looked up. The moon was full tonight, low and bright in the sky, though it was frequently obscured by pollution clouds. It had been mostly clear, until now, and when she looked to it, she found red, streaked with purple and orange, had stolen the gentle illumination from them, like thieving fingers, like a wound cut in a flank.

Like blood over snow.

Immediately, Crowe reached for her hand and she took it, squeezing tightly, until their gloves creaked. Past the clouds, the sky throbbed like a heartbeat, like labouring lungs, like a slash pumping out vitae. Josepha pressed her back against the outer wall of the building they had just descended from.

Already, they could hear panic, the fear of a people confused and afraid.

Something about it felt eerie, familiar in a way she could not place, could not touch. It reminded her of a memory it didn’t have.

It happened in a moment, the flash like lightning, like a spotlight being turned on.

There was a scream so profound and terrible that it seemed to reverberate from every window, every vehicle’s windshield, and she crouched, throwing both hands up and over her head to shelter herself as glass all around the city shattered at once, tumbling down from vast heights like a storm made of teeth.

Pain sliced through Josepha, her head throbbed and her arms seared with pain. When the silence came, she raised her head slowly, and felt glass shards slide from her, and was, at first, amazed that they hadn’t killed her. She looked to Crowe and he met her eyes, dazed and uncertain, just as amazed to have survived as he was.

A moment later, the alarms began to sound, and wailing filled the air; human, machine, it made little difference.

“We… we have to help them,” Josepha said, her voice sounding rusty, deeper to her own ears. “Let’s go.”

“We-- oh god,” Crowe said. “We’re not going anywhere. Look at your hands.”

Josepha lowered her arms carefully, and saw what he did: her gloves had shredded away, exposing her hands, but instead of the brown she expected to see, they were coated thickly in blood that was as much that of a city as it was hers.

~ * ~

“My old friend, it’s good to see you again. Did you succeed?”

Hershel Malcador stood on the landing platform just outside the Merican Interstellar Aerodrome and smiled. He tilted his head up, enjoying the feeling of his home planet’s sun on his face, unobstructed by any cowl or covering. He had put that away on his trip, the need for theatrics largely over.

Instead, he wore a dark suit made of the finest synthetic fibers, neatly fitted around his aging body. He leaned on his cane, though that was as much affectation as anything else. It suited him to be seen with a cane and so he used one, a state of affairs that was as simple as it was straightforward.

At his side stood Susanne Decair, wearing a military uniform and carrying a case on her back. She wore sunglasses, carefully concealing her eyes as best she could.

The man that approached him wore a long, flowing outfit, white edged with gold, with his long, black hair drawn back in a tail. His features were strong, though ill-defined, as though assembled from pictures. He held a hand out, and Malcador grasped it, then leaned in and embraced him tightly.

“I did,” Malcador said, smiling broadly. “Twice, actually.”

“Twice… excellent.” The man took a step back. “Show me.”

Malcador nodded, and gestured Susanne forward. She removed the case from her shoulder and set it on the ground, went to one knee and opened it. Nestled within the careful padding and tightened straps was the STC system. Susanne lifted the case, presenting it to Malcador’s oldest friend.

“Perfect,” he said, taking the rectangle out of the box, and held it up to the light. As he tilted it, the metal scintillated with promise. “Just perfect. What was the other success?”

“I brought you two potentials,” Malcador said, and gestured to two sealed containers. “You’ll know them when you see them, I think.”

A smile stole across the other man’s expression, and he let a hand rest over one of the containers. “Interesting. Not who I expected, and do I sense..?”

“Yes,” Malcador said. “The visions were uncontrolled, potentially beneficial, or potentially very dangerous. An emergent psychic power.”

“What about the accuracy of the vision?” the man asked, looking to his friend. “Accuracy counts for something.”

“Impossible to say without remaining behind.” Malcador gestured. “What do you think?”

“Yes,” the man agreed. “Gemini, I believe. Now… what about this one?”

“No special gifts, that I know of. An interesting variety of talents, though, and some… interesting morality issues, but that may not be genetic.” Malcador shrugged. “Or it may be.”

“We both know there’s a little more to my project than genetics.” The man let his hand rest over the second container. “I… see. Interesting, and if nothing else, there’s no reason not to create redundancies. I will name this one… Corvus.”

“Gemini, and Corvus,” Malcador repeated. “Excellent.”

“Indeed,” the man said, and gestured for Susanne to close the case. “And who is this?”

“A military sniper who served very admirably as my adjutant,” Malcador said. “Susanne, this is my friend. Let him have a look at you.”

“Sir,” Susanne said, her expression stony and fixed. The man placed his hand against her cheek, and looked into her eyes. Susanne swayed briefly, but remained standing.

“A woman of few words is interesting, and I’ll keep it in mind,” the man said. “I have work for you if you’re interested.”

“You can’t steal away all the best ones,” Malcador said chidingly. “I have need for Susanne for my own project. I’ll have to discuss it with you, sometime.”

“I’d like to hear it,” the man said. “But first, we need to get all of this under cover. I’d prefer that we weren’t seen.”

“I agree,” Malcador said. Together, the pair of them began to walk, and Susanne followed behind, still silent. “So, how do you feel about assassin cadres..?”

**End Part II: Gemini and Corvus**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DVD Commentary Notes on Tumblr: [Chapter 12](https://ivorytowerblr.tumblr.com/post/185682528221/wh20k-fic-court-of-stars-part-1262-epilogue)


End file.
